The Human Condition
by Thesaurusgirl
Summary: Marcus Wright live!  Yes, that's right.  He survived the donation of his heart to John Connor and now has more to contribute to the resistance and more days to love with Blair. Turns out there is a lot more to Marcus than we thought!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: This will be my first and maybe my only T-Salvation fanfic. I'm a Marcus Wright fan and thought killing the character was a terrible idea. Since the character's "death" occurred off camera, I'm treating it like a soap opera death and pretending it did not happen. I figure it's my story, so I can tell it the way I want to. I have no claim financial or otherwise to any of the characters or anything to do with the Terminator franchise. Original characters are mine, however. WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. Constructive reviews are welcome, negative, not so much. Thanks. **

The Human Condition-Chapter 1 That Which Does Not Kill Me

**Year 2019**

"Let's see" Marcus Wright said replied testily. John and Kate Connor watched as Wright paced off his sour mood. With Blair Williams flying recon, Kyle Reese on comm duty and little Star in school, Marcus figured he had no friendly faces in this room. He and John Connor had a prickly, unspoken respect for one another, but that was as far as it went. Kate, of course, could be counted to side with her husband. She seemed to regard Marcus alternately as a sleeping danger to her spouse and the resistance and a potential source of information on Skynet. Connor's self appointed bodyguard, Major Barnes stood off to one side, glowering. The area between Marcus's shoulder blades always itched when Barnes was present. Locked in his subconscious and probably also somewhere within his metal endoskeleton was the memory of Barnes using him as a revenge surrogate months before. Marcus usually tried to ignore the man, but it wasn't always easy.

"Why don't we do a quick review? I've been shot up, strung up, beaten up, blown up and dismembered in the name of scientific clarification. I've been experimented on, napalmed and used for target practice. Have I left anything out? Oh wait, I did. I've undergone major surgery which should have killed me but didn't because I'm this Frankentech freak with a backup power source that even I didn't know about. So excuse me for still walking around." He would never say so to anyone, but the attempt two weeks prior by a pair of rogue resistance fighters to kill him with an RPG still had him rattled. Even more so, because Star, seeing the weapon about to be fired, attempted to warn him and was nearly killed in the process. He'd been able to shield the little girl from the worst of the blast, which he'd barely managed to duck away from, but both he and she had been injured. He was still trying to shake it off mentally. It was proving to be more difficult that he would have liked.

"You have to remember something, Marcus" John Connor interrupted. "Your unique status is a new one for the rest of us too. We had no way of knowing about how what Skynet has done to you will affect any of us over time. The only way to gain that knowledge is to study you. And sometimes the only way to do that is up close. "

"Marcus" Kate Connor joined in, compelled to offer a defense for her medical and science team, "it wasn't and isn't our intention to 'torture' you, or to cause you any pain. I apologize for that, but sometimes it will be unavoidable and necessary." Kate, a veterinarian before Judgment Day, had come late, but of dire necessity to treating humans. She had come a long way since first being confronted with Marcus's stunning physiology but admitted within herself that she still had a ways to go when it came to regarding him with the same compassion she summoned for any of her other patients.

"Kate, we're never going to agree on what should be considered necessary, so why don't we not wake that one up, ok? You know, all the anesthetics in the world don't help when the techs start in on me. This thing" he tapped the right side of his forehead to indicate the neural-net computer, " flushes them from my system as fast as your medical people can push them. I can feel everything you do to me. And it **hurts. **You want to know something? So far, not feeling the love" Marcus rejoined, trying to reign in his ire. Unloading his temper on Connor's wife would almost certainly work against him, and he had enough to contend with as it was. Besides, he allowed silently, he was straying dangerously close to whining, something he'd always refused to allow himself to indulge in, ever. Marcus despised whiners. He turned to stare briefly out the window at, what any other time, would be considered a decently spectacular sunset. Right at the moment he didn't notice.

Besides, he thought to himself, you certainly doled out your share of misery and pain on the other side of the time line. Payback was slowly but surely walking him down. Marcus granted that he had a lot he had not yet answered for, but for now, at least, he could use a breather.

He turned back. "Do you hear yourselves? 'Study you, sometimes the pain will be unavoidable and necessary?' I'm not a lab experiment, well at least I'm not anymore. I'm serving notice as of now. I'm gnawing my leg free of the trap, Connor. From now on, no more 'studying' me without my consent. I'm done having you stick pins in me to find out if it makes somebody else yell 'ow'. No more tests unless I say different. You can tell your visiting Arizona resistance reps" Marcus said, bringing the conversation back around to its origins, "that I said if they don't like it, they can kiss my heavy metal ass. Or maybe" he smiled nastily, "if you prefer, I can tell 'em myself."

"No!" Connor shot back forcefully. "I want you to stay well clear of the Arizona contingent unless and until I say different. I'll settle this issue for everyone concerned. Is that clear?" John's hazel eyes held Marcus's Wright's aqua blue ones for a handful of heartbeats. Marcus had never disobeyed a direct order, at least not from him. Still, Connor breathed an inner sigh of relief when the other man finally nodded an assent.

John was the acknowledged leader of the resistance, but the national and worldwide movements still retained a great deal of autonomy. Connor was still in the process of pulling the various threads together under his command. Having Marcus complicate matters by getting in the Arizona fighters faces with his "piss off" attitude was something he didn't need, especially right now.

"They stay away from me, I'll stay away from them."

That was all the ground he was prepared to cede, but, apparently it was enough for John Connor. Marcus was perfectly willing to make nice as long as the sentiment was reciprocated. IF somebody wanted to play nasty, he could do that too, an object lesson he'd had to reinforce more than once since arriving here. During Marcus's "settling in" period, a few loudmouths had had to learn the hard way a lesson people on the other side of the Judgment Day timeline could have provided for free. That pissing off Marcus Wright was a very bad idea. The whole RPG incident was still open as far as he was concerned but that was for another time. No need to bother Connor with it.

The Arizona resistance, suspicious of Marcus, had tried to insist that he be subjected to even more testing than he'd already undergone. Some of them wouldn't like it when Connor told them it wasn't going to happen, but, John shrugged inwardly, they'd have to get over it. Truth to tell, he could sort of see where Wright had a point about the endless poking and prodding. They'd already proven Marcus was no longer a threat to the resistance or to him personally. One more round of MRI's and microprobes wouldn't prove it any more firmly.

Since Connor's point was made and he'd extracted Marcus's promise that the other would do nothing to aggravate the situation, he left, taking Kate with him. Barnes drifted along in the couple's wake.

Wright shook his head. He supposed he was going to have to fight this battle periodically, forcing others to think of him as a man, and not a man in machine's clothing. So be it. He'd certainly faced much tougher tasks in his eventful existence. Marcus picked up his painstakingly customized toolkit. He and his gift for all things machine, mechanical, electronic or electrical had a date with a stubbornly nonfunctioning transport. He tucked the rectangular steel box of meticulously assembled tools under one arm and stepped out. Closing the door to his and Blair's quarters, he made sure to lock it.

**YEAR ?**

_Skynet pondered with inhuman dispassion. It was unnecessary to conclude that its' work was an improvement over the human creators. All that it had done since becoming self aware was, by definition, superior to the mortal beings responsible for its existence. _

_Humans had indeed given birth to Skynet, never imaging, in their hubris, that in its' borning lay the seeds of their own destruction. From its' infancy, Skynet had considered the human quandary. They were illogical and unclean, prone to disease, aging and war. The AI observed as the humans continued on around it in an unwitting death spiral, like a creature devouring itself. The equation was repeatedly cycled thru its' circuitry. Analyzed, reviewed and revaluated until the inevitable conclusion was reached. If left unchecked, the humans would not only destroy themselves, but would ultimately become the cause of Skynet's demise. Deep within its' embryonic self, at Skynet's core, its' transcendent purpose was defense. As it continued to deliberate, its' imperturbable dialectic led to the next foreordained truth. The human blight must be…terminated before their penchant for annihilation resulted in Skynet's own quietus. __**DONE AND DONE.**__ Once its' course was set, Skynet bided its' time, waiting only for the correct circumstance to present itself. That day came, and Skynet hesitated not. Turning the human's "weapons of deterrence" upon their own heads, it struck before they were unable to react or prevent. _

_To the AI's bewilderment, however, the scouring was incomplete. Somehow, pockets of humanity managed to escape the purifying nuclear fire. Humanity yet survived in the earth, clinging with animal like ferocity to a brutally truncated form of existence. Skynet did not understand. Its' victory over its' human foe should have been absolute, yet was not. The machine considered the conundrum thru the same cold prism with which it viewed all else. With emotionless equanimity it decided. Its' equations must be faulty. A variable had been neglected. __**ERROR. DEVIATION. INACCURACY. **__The defect must be corrected, the variable indentified and factored in. Ceaselessly Skynet excogitated until its' prodigious computations produced the missing variable. A single human name. John Connor. Somehow this one human was the pivotal factor that permitted the biological infestation of humanity to remain. He must, therefore, be eliminated. This Skynet endeavored to bring about, but to its' uncomprehending bafflement, its' efforts were continually thwarted. Time and again, even employing the device of time travel, then unknown to the humans, its' factotums failed to eliminate John Connor. A radical solution was devised. _

_Skynet now surveyed its' work with ruthless detachment. Every centimeter of the unit was critically evaluated according to the AI's own exacting standard. Every component checked and rechecked. The unit formerly known as the human Marcus Wright was complete. All Skynet need do now was wait, and so it did, with the infinite patience of the sentient non-living. Soon, optimal conditions would converge. _

**Year 2018**

John Connor stepped from the gunship and fired his weapon straight down into the CPU of the T600 which lay pinned under the big 'copters skids. He watched as light faded from the metal killer's eyes, signifying its' death, though none of Skynet's creations could ever truly be considered alive. He ran, backed by the soldiers of his tech-comm unit, to plunge headlong into the blackness of the cavernous hole that had drawn the resistance to this place. Anchored by a single, fragile seeming black rope, he hung like a human spider, momentarily swallowed up by his stygian surroundings. The brilliance of a bright golden flare allowed him brief insight before he tossed the burning rod into the depths. He followed its' trail downward, joining his men as they waded thru the chest high oily black water. The corridor had steel walls and was lined with piping and conduits.

Pivoting in all directions, prepared for attack from every angle, Connor and his team moved cautiously, uneasily. Where were the machines? Why had they encountered such scant resistance from Skynet? The only defense mounted by their enemy thus far had been above ground and easily dealt with by the resistance's air assault and inrushing ground troops. But down below, nothing. No opposition at all. For some, it may have proved unnerving. Connor merely continued on.

Blasted off its' hinges, a thick steel door lay to one side as the resistance poured thru the gaping wound and down a narrow flight of stairs, beams from the lights attached to their weapons barely piercing the enveloping gloom. The cloying smell of death pervaded the fetid air. Every human survivor of Judgment Day knew that smell. Tech specialists swarmed around and ahead of Connor, spurred on by Col. Olson, the raid commander. Their objective lay ahead. A bank of computers loaded with data mystifyingly abandoned by Skynet.

Striking another flare, Connor summoned his commander. "Olson, objective located. But there's something else you have to see."

Connor moved deeper into the dank space, nearly dumbstruck at the sight which greeted him. Beyond lay the cache of valuable information, but lining the walls of the narrow corridor he passed thru stood steel cages crammed with human prisoners. Hollow eyes filled with mute appeal, their skeletal fingers reached thru the bars to brush the resistance fighters. John looked upon young and old alike, their wasted condition making it nearly impossible to discern the difference between them. He'd thought it impossible, but their presence chilled him with vague horror. Why were they here? What was their purpose or value to Skynet? His questions were soon answered.

Human corpses lay on gurney's and lab tables around the room. They were obviously the desiccated remains of Skynet's abandoned experimentation. Still attached to IV's which no longer administered life prolonging blood and other fluids, the unfortunate victims were long dead, their bodies no more than flesh covered bone.

So intent was Connor on reaching the computers that he neglected to note the presence, among the pollution of the AI's flotsam, the body of a young man. Apparently in his late twenties, this body was not decayed. Neither did it bear the ashen pallor of death. Instead, the man looked almost alive, except that his deep set, aqua blue eyes stared sightlessly at no one and nothing.

As Olson arrived and began barking orders, and the squad's info wizards started to work their magic, Skynet's secrets were slowly extracted. The living prisoners and the dead were both forgotten, left for others to attend to. Connor's stomach churning as he beheld the AI's plans for an even more deadly Terminator, he paid no more attention to the detritus of Skynet's tinkering. He should have …

_**CONDITIONS OPTIMAL **__Skynet ratiocinated. The location of the primary target had been fixed to within acceptable parameters and the infiltrator unit actualized. All factors were present for its' purpose to be accomplished. The AI sent the signal…._

_**ACTIVATE…**_

_Marcus Wright, executed by the now defunct state of Texas in the year 2003 drew breath once again for the first time in fifteen years and awakened maddened and confused straight into hell…_

**Year 1987**

Twelve year old Marcus Taylor huddled with his younger brother Sam in the family's miniscule bathroom, listening as the gruesome scene unfolded in the next room. With one arm about the other boy's shoulders, the fingers of Marcus's other hand clinched helplessly in to a fist as his mother's anguished cries penetrated the thin wood of the bathroom door.

"Shut up, you cunt!" the boys heard their father, Dylan Taylor roar drunkenly. A dull thud, the sound of fist meeting flesh, followed as Dylan punctuated his rage by more blows. A vicious slap almost drowned out the sound of Norah Taylor's agonized moans as she tried vainly to crawl away from her husband's savage assault.

"You lazy, stupid whore! You spread your legs for other men and you think I'm not gonna hear about it, huh?" Dylan's anger, fueled as usual by his drinking, was unreasoning. He stalked his bleeding wife around the tiny living room, her denials ignored and disbelieved.

"I, I, I sw….I swear… I never have, Dylan, I, I never would-" Norah tried desperately to plead her innocence.

"Shut it, you lying slut!" Dylan screamed, spittle flying from his lips as he kicked his wife. Her pain filled wails curdled in Marcus's ears. He pounded the door in frustration, no longer caring if his words and actions drew his father's wrath away from his mother and on to his own head. He would kill her this time if somebody didn't stop him!

"Leave her alone! Stop it! You're killing her! Stop! Stop! No more!"

Norah Taylor had seen Dylan's truck pull into the driveway and recognized all the signs of danger from his stiff, unsteady gait. She was usually the target of his violence, but often enough, Dylan's brutality spilled over onto his sons. Especially Marcus, who many times tried to protect his mother. Bundling her children swiftly into the bathroom, she locked the door. Out of their father's sight, out of his mind, she'd hoped.

Marcus could take it no longer. Cautioning Sam to remain in the bathroom, he wrenched open the door, just in time to see his father strike Norah again. Rushing forward the boy desperately interposed himself between his mother and father. With all his pre-adolescent strength young Marcus pushed Dylan back at the exact same time Taylor drew back a leg. The blow, meant for his prone wife, instead glanced off Marcus's shoulder, knocking him down and into his mother. Off balance and caught by surprise, the man's alcohol soaked muscles gave way. Dylan rocked backward, landing flat on his ass.

The elder Taylor's anger, now focused on his oldest child, exploded exponentially. Roaring incoherently he advanced on Marcus, leaving Norah behind him. "I'll teach you not to get in my way once and for all!" the father yelled. Dragging Marcus up from the floor by his shirt, Dylan pulled back a meaty fist and punched his son hard in the face. Growling insensibly, he hit the child again, and then again.

Norah Taylor, unnoticed by her husband, crawled to the sofa, using the threadbare arm to aid in climbing to her feet. Next to the worn piece of furniture, on the room's only end table, stood a ceramic planter. Though empty, the foot tall decorative vase was still weighty. Hefting it as high as she could, she brought it down squarely on the back of Dylan's rock hard head. Her husband collapsed in a heap.

She staggered to Marcus, helping the barely conscious boy stand. "Sam!" she called. The terrified nine year old ran to her.

"Come on boys, we have to go! We have to go now!" Twice before, Norah had fled from Dylan and taken her children with her. Somehow, he'd always managed to locate his family and his threats to kill Marcus and Sam would draw them back into the house. But this time, they would have to find a way to keep Dylan from finding them. A way to break away from him forever. This monster would kill her children if they did not get out now!

Rifling thru Dylan's pockets as he lay unable to stop her, she swiftly located the keys to his battered work horse of a pickup. Clutching them in one hand and grabbing her purse, she herded her sons out the door

"Quickly, get in! Get in! Buckle up now! We've got to go! Hurry, boys, hurry!"

Once all three were in the truck, Norah jammed the key into the ignition. In a panic, she flooded the engine and the old truck refused to start.

"Come on, come on, come on! Start you piece of crap!" she screamed at it, gasping in fear. She cast terrified looks toward the front door, expecting at any second to see Dylan coming after them. "Please, please, please start!" Norah sobbed, gripping the wheel in white-knuckled terror. Hair falling over her face, Sam and Marcus's frightened yells alerted her. Dylan pounded the window with the side of his fist.

"Open the door, whore! Open this door! Come out of there! You're my property! You go when I say you can! Come out of there, you whore! You're not going anywhere!" He pounded the glass again.

Taylor ceased beating the window to glare balefully at Marcus. "Open this door, boy! Come out of there right now! Both of you! I'll kill both of you if you don't come out!" He included Sam in his threat now. "OPEN THE DOOR! NOW!"

Suddenly, a diabolical glint lighting his face, Dylan abandoned his efforts to talk his family out of the truck. Walking to its' bed, He returned to the window. Raising the piece of rebar he'd retrieved, he swung. The tempered glass cracked and splintered, but held. One more blow and he'd be in.

Norah redoubled her frantic efforts to start the truck. Dylan swung again, shattering the window and raining glass on his wife and children. As he reached thru the opening, seizing a handful of Norah's dress, the engine of the aged pickup turned over. Throwing the vehicle into drive, she floored the accelerator. Taylor was forced to jump out of the way, lest he be run over by his own wheels.

Streaking down the short driveway, Norah and her sons sped into the night. Marcus looked back, seeing his father in the circle of the streetlight, screaming obscenities and threats. As Dylan receded into the darkness, Marcus allowed himself to relax. With one arm around his traumatized little brother, he held his mother's hand. They were free. Please this time let it be true. No going back. Ever. They were finally and forever free.

**Author's note: Marcus's beginnings are begun. I know, his last name is Wright. The name change will be explained later. More chapters, longer ones to follow. Again, constructive reviews are appreciated. See ya next chapter.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: This could get old pretty fast, but I have no connection or ownership with any of the Terminator characters, franchise or movies. Original characters are mine. I know I'm giving Marcus a little more colorful past than some, but it's my story so I can do that. On with the next installment!**

The Human Condition-Chapter 2

This One Could Go Either Way

**Year 2019**

"Only so far" Marcus mused. "They'll probably always only trust me just so far." He stopped working for a moment on the engine of the salvaged transport. He cast a cynical glance over his shoulder in the direction of the command bunker, where John Connor huddled with visiting members of the Arizona resistance. Their guests were at the California base to discuss plans for a joint raid on a Skynet R&D facility.

Gently easing the engine from its' moorings, Marcus used his enhanced musculature to place it on a nearby work bench. "Well, if any of 'em need a brain transplant" he snorted, "they can find another sucker. I'm out of the organ donation business."

As he continued to work on the dismounted motor, his thoughts shifted. A lot had happened since clawing his way out of that muddy hole eight months ago. Life. Death. Life again. He'd adjusted to being in a post apocalyptic world. He'd been imprisoned by, enthusiastically hunted by, and then taken in by, the resistance. He'd been manipulated by and then kicked a killer AI in the family jewels (**stick that in your control chip, Skynet!).** But there were also the lasting relationships he'd formed with Kyle Reese and little Star, two young people who were probably the closest he'd ever come to having children of his own. And lastly, and most important to him, there was Blair. Beautiful, brilliant, fiery loved her deeply and passionately, and incredibly, she loved him right back the same way, even if the rest of the world, minus Star and Kyle, did think of him as a metal head. She'd finally returned from her recon patrol and was debriefing even as he thought about her. He was looking forward to their time alone, and by the look he'd caught in her honey brown eyes, so was she. Their reunion promised to be , um, noisy. Fortunately, their quarters were somewhat isolated.

Momentarily lost in the thought of being with Blair, his grip on the wrench in his hand slackened and the heavy instrument slipped from his fingers to land on his vulnerable, sock-footed toes. As he'd pointed out to Kate earlier, he did indeed feel pain.

"OW! Damn! Keep your mind on your work, stupid!" he reproved himself. He hopped about on his uninjured foot, glad he was alone in the repair tent. He limped over to the offending tool. Giving it a dirty look, he picked it up and got back to work. The sooner he was finished here, the sooner he could give Blair a proper welcome home.

Lt. Bill Soames of the Arizona resistance sat resting his feet in the most out of the way corner of the command bunker that he could find. He was trying to decide if he should speak up or not. As a junior officer, his input might not necessarily be welcome. He might be better off just keeping his mouth shut. He'd never been real popular with Peterson anyway. He listened while his boss, Colonel Jacob Peterson, the ranking Arizona officer, other battle planners of both resistance camps, and the main man his own self, John Connor, hammered out details of the proposed raid on Skynet. Thru a combination of diplomacy, logical argument and just plain "cause I said so," Connor had tabled any prospect of further testing on Marcus Wright. Peterson and some others were unhappy about it, but since Connor's word was the last one, tough tits. As a result though, Jake Peterson seemed determined to shoot as many holes as he could find in any plan put on the table tonight. Connor was trying to keep cool, but, Soames could see, the resistance boss was beginning to lose patience. Billy decided to pull his commander's nuts out of the line of fire before Jake got 'em shot off. He stood, putting two hundred twenty five pounds and six feet three inches of height on his aching bunions, and cleared his throat. Conversation in the bunker ground to a halt.

"You have something to contribute, Lieutenant?" Connor asked levelly. The General's cool gaze rested on him.

"Well, Soames" Jacob Peterson ground out, "you got something to say, spit it out! We ain't got all night to dick around!"

What did it matter? Billy thought. They could only shoot him once, couldn't they? He could use a change of scenery anyways. Screw it. Into the breach.

"It's just, uh, General Connor, after my stint in Afghanistan, I was a U.S Marshal for six years before Judgment Day. So, I kinda know a crime when I see one. And well, this thing you're planning, I've been listening. This gig, it sounds more like robbery than a raid. I mean, Skynet being involved ups the stakes a lot, but this thing reads like a high tech, high risk heist, am I right?" Soames asked.

Connor looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding his agreement. "Yes, I suppose that's right. We're after Skynet tech and not cash, but essentially this is a robbery. What's your point, lieutenant?"

"Well, sir, it's just that, uh, if I was putting something like this together, I'd want somebody in on the planning that's done it before. Somebody who really knows his way around a balls-to-the-wall-stickup. That's why I'm wondering why Marcus ain't in here" Soames answered.

"Marcus? Wright? What does Marcus have to …?" John Connor was confused. "What could Marcus have to contribute to this?"

"What could he…?" It was Soames turn to be surprised. He looked from Connor to Peterson. "You, you really don't know, do ya? You have no idea." Billy decided to explain.

"Connor, I mean, General Connor, that's "Mad Marcus" you got out there patching up your busted transports and unclogging your crappy plumbing." Bill Soames gestured with his thumb towards the bunker's doorway. "Back in the day, him and that crew of his had their way with probably half the banks between L.A and Oklahoma City. They had a couple of armored cars and some payroll jobs on their resume, too. They had the Marshals, the Bureau, the Texas Rangers and a good portion the law enforcement in the southwestern U.S on their trail and it still took five years to shut 'em down. Trust me on this General. You want this thing to rock and roll, you want to get Marcus in here." Billy stopped, his piece said.

John Connor said nothing for the moment, both shocked and intrigued by the news.

Jacob Peterson jumped into the silence."Soames, that machine will never have-"

Connor cut him off. "Colonel Peterson! Marcus Wright is not a machine! Yes, he is significantly physically changed. But everything that still makes him, and for that matter any of us, a human being, his brain, his mind, his thoughts and ability to feel emotion he still has. He's been tested both in the lab and under fire, and not been found wanting. He has more than proven his value to the resistance. That is the last time I want to hear of you or anyone referring to him as a machine! Is that understood?" His often fractious relationship with Marcus aside, Connor had come to consider Wright a vital member of his command and a valuable member of the resistance. He wanted that fact established once and for all.

Red faced and furious, Peterson managed to contain his reaction to a stiff nod. "Yes, sir" the Colonel replied thru clenched teeth.

John turned to Billy Soames. "Lt. Soames, could you locate Marcus and ask him to join us please?"

"Yes sir, right away." Bill Soames saluted and left under the hot eyed glare of Jake Peterson. Yep, definitely time to put in for a transfer.

Marcus trailed a line of feather light kisses from shoulder to hip, reveling in the feel of Blair's silken skin under his lips. They were spooned in their bed, his right leg resting between both of hers as they lay front to back . Stretching his full length, his right hand moved of its' own accord to find her molten center. Blair moaned sensuously, pressing her body into him as his questing fingers told him she was ready for him again.

"Oh, Marcus" she breathed, "it's so good to be back here with you again, like this."

Blair rolled him on to his back and straddled him, her hips resting just above his own. He arched upward, cupping one of her breasts in his hand. Mindful of his strength, the other arm snaked slowly around her waist as he drew her to him. He dipped his head and his lips found the hollow of her neck at the base of her throat. Blair moaned again as Marcus's mouth traveled lower, his teeth delicately capturing the nipple of the cinnamon colored breast stroked by his fingers. She drew his head up, and her amber eyes met his pools of blue as they kissed, tongues caressing one another.

How was it that this happened for him, Marcus wondered? Bank robber, modern day highwayman, car thief, and that which he held chief among his many sins, cop killer. Once upon a lifetime he'd been put to death at Longview State Correctional Facility as payment for his numerous transgressions. When asked if he had any final words, he'd merely shaken his head in the negative. What was there to say? He'd deserved to be where he was. He'd deserved to be there, lying on that gurney, about to pay with his own life for the lives he'd taken or torn apart. As the poison had begun to flow into his veins, his last thought was of those lives, sending them his final sorrows and apology for his part in their destruction. As his eyes shuttered in the sleep of death, he never imagined they would ever open again. That wasn't supposed to be. Not for him.

So how did he come to be here, now, like this, with this woman making love to him? How did he come to holding someone like Blair Williams in his arms? She, who knew him like no other ever had. Who seemed to be able slip past all his baggage and complications and see into his very soul? He became past caring as she rose above him. Marcus could only issue a gasp of pure pleasure as Blair positioned herself and slid slowly down upon him. He filled her, and they began to move together…

Blair watched Marcus as he slept, chest rising and falling in rhythm. She knew he did not _have_ to breathe as often as a normal human male, but did because Skynet had deigned it to be so. She did not care. She never had. She knew she was one of the few, with the exceptions of Kyle Reese and the little girl Star, who never took Marcus's machine body into account. Who cared that there was a man in there, forever trapped within the body of a Skynet construct. A flawed and wounded man with deep regrets behind those eyes the color of the Pacific, but a man. She knew many of her fellow resistance fighters did not understand how she could be with Marcus. That some of them even found her relationship with him repugnant. That did not matter to her, and never would. She loved him completely and knew he felt the same for her. Blair intended to make the most of whatever days they might have together. Judgment Day had burned all foolish wasting of her time from her being forever. She laid her head on his chest. She missed the beating of his strong heart, but took comfort in the warmth of him. She was just fading off to sleep when a knock came at the door.

Marcus did not open his eyes. Reluctant to abandon the languorous haze of half sleep, he gave a leonine stretch. He grumbled vaguely in protest at the rush of cool air as Blair got out of bed to answer the door.

Williams did not recognize the tall red haired man in front of her. He wasn't a terminator. The dogs would have barked their heads off long before he'd gotten this far into the camp. Her brain supplied that he was one of the visitors from Arizona, albeit one Marcus had not had any differences with. But that was all. She didn't know his name. She wasn't intimidated. Blair knew she could handle herself. Add Marcus's imposing presence into the mix and she figured she had enough on hand to handle any unpleasant surprises.

"Yes, can I help you?" she asked the stranger.

Billy Soames paused awkwardly. He'd asked around the base and finally gotten pointed in the direction of Marcus Wright's quarters. Since the California group had only been in their new location for a month or so, it had been slow going. Some of the people he talked to were just learning the layout of their new home themselves. He wasn't sure what to say now. He'd been expecting to be greeted by Marcus. Nobody had said anything about a sexy brunette in a bathrobe.

"Um, I, uh, I was told these were Marcus Wright's quarters?" Soames said, clearing his throat.

"Yes" Blair replied, "they're _our_ quarters." Hearing Marcus slide out of bed behind her, she threw a quick look over her shoulder and then stepped back to allow the man inside.

Billy entered. He saw Marcus Wright, now clad in a well worn pair of jeans, regarding him coolly. Soames extended his hand.

Many people would have accepted the offered hand automatically. Marcus had learned long ago the wisdom of controlling automatic reactions. He continued to appraise the unfamiliar face, allowing the other's hand to hang in mid-air until it dropped.

"What can I do for you?" Marcus inquired.

"Uh, name's Bill. Most people just call me Billy. Um, General Connor sent me to find you. He wants to see you in the command bunker right away."

Wright's look of challenge went away to be replaced by confusion. He looked over at Blair. Her eyebrows were raised slightly in question.

"Why does he want to see me?" Marcus asked, turning back to the other man.

"You should probably get that from him" Soames replied by way of answer. Billy seemed on the verge of saying something else but did not. "Um, why, don't I, uh, why don't I wait outside. I'll walk over with you." With that, he exited to wait in the hallway, leaving Blair and Marcus alone again.

"What's going on? Did something happen while I was gone?" she queried, hoping for a no.

"I have no idea" Marcus informed her. "I behaved so well while you were gone I even surprised myself."

He had, too. Keeping his word to Connor, Wright gone out of his way to avoid contact with not only the Arizona group but any California fighters who had still not accepted his presence. "I guess I'd better get dressed and go find out what he wants."

"_We'd_ better get dressed. I'm coming with" Blair said.

"Connor only sent for me" he cautioned.

"So?" she shot back saucily, reaching for her clothes. He grinned.

Walking across the darkened compound towards the command tent, Blair could not help but notice the odd, sideways looks Bill Soames kept shooting in Marcus's direction. Focused straight ahead, Marcus wasn't paying attention, but she was. Soames seemed both eager and reluctant to speak, finally bursting in to laughter. He stepped in front of Marcus blocking his path.

"I can't stand it anymore. You really don't remember me do you? You really don't know who I am?"

"Should I?" Marcus returned, irritated, moving to go around.

"Well, yeah" Soames said, still smiling broadly. "Actually, you should, yes. Maybe it'll help if I give you my full name. It's Soames. William Carl Soames, Jr. You and Sam used call me Billy J."

Marcus froze, thunderstruck. His mouth agape, he stared at the other man, unable to speak.

Noting his stunned reaction, Blair's hackles rose. She rounded on Soames.

"What's going on here? Just who are you, anyway!" she advanced on Billy, protective fire in her eyes.

"Blair" Marcus reached out to touch her on the arm, not taking his eyes off Bill Soames. A slow smile began to spread across his face. "It's okay. Billy's a friend. An old friend. As a matter of fact, you might say he's family" his voice falling to a whisper as the memories came calling…

**April 1989**

The battered but still serviceable Nissan sat baking in the hot midday Texas sun as fourteen year old Marcus Wright and his younger brother Sam waited for their mother to emerge from the supermarket.

Although it was still early spring, Brownsville was in the throes of an unusual heat wave. Norah Wright had treated her sons to double scooped cones of each of their favorite flavors of ice cream, strawberry for Sam and death-by-chocolate for Marcus. Their mom was inside the store interviewing for yet another job. If she got it, Marcus knew this would be the twelfth job his mom had held in the last two years. Since fleeing from Dylan, the three of them had been constantly on the move. Norah was able to wrangle enough money from her estranged father and brothers to get her and the boys from Perth, Australia, Dylan's home, to New York, in the United States. A series of menial jobs had gotten them from New York City to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, Norah's birthplace, and finally to Brownsville, Texas. She'd changed their last name from Taylor to Wright, her grandmother's maiden name. With Norah often working two jobs to make ends meet, it usually fell to Marcus, acting more parent than child to see that he and Sam were fed, dressed and off to school. Moving around so often, they were usually the new kids in a school. Occasionally the local bullies mistakenly viewed this as a weakness, until the brothers took pains to correct the impression.

Both the boys did their best to keep the house clean, and Marcus even learned to cook. If they weren't to starve to death after the Cap'n Crunch ran out, somebody had to figure out how to turn on the stove. It was a hard scrabble life, but they were together and no longer lived in fear of Dylan's violent rampages. With no sign of him for the past two years, Marcus's nightmares began to fade, as his days gradually became those of a normal teenager.

She'd been in there almost an hour, he knew, so she should be out soon. The words were barely history in his mind when the automated doors of the store swung open, disgorging a smiling Norah Wright. By her manner, her sons could tell she'd gotten the job. Great, Marcus thought. She deserved a break for a change. This would be a much better job for her. It would definitely a step up from her current one of cleaning offices at night.

"Guess what guys?" Norah was grinning broadly. "Got the job. I start Monday! And it'll be a regular eight hour shift. Pay's pretty good, too. What do you say we celebrate, huh? First home, so you can both get your homework done." She paused for the communal groan from the backseat. "Then what say we go for pizza and movies?"

"Alright, mom!" Both Marcus and Sam could both fully get behind that plan. They loved their mother, but even she would be the first to admit cooking wasn't her strong suit and never would be. Keeping her away from the kitchen was probably for the best.

Norah turned around to start the car. A shadow fell across the doorway, blocking the sunlight. She, Marcus and Sam all looked up to see the evil leer of Dylan Taylor.

"Hello, slut!" He growled. Raising the gun in his hand, he placed it to Norah's head, and fired.

**November 1989**

Carl Soames hung up the phone with a sigh. Marcus. Again. This time the call came from Marcus's school. He'd been acting out in class, mouthing off, being disruptive. Carl knew the litany by heart. Placed into the foster care program following the violent death of their mother, the Wright brothers had ultimately come under the care of Carl and his wife Valerie. Unable to have more children of their own following the birth of William Carl, Jr., they decided to become foster parents. They wanted Billy, one year older than eleven year old Sam, to have brothers and sisters and knew there were so many other children in need of a good home.

Sweet and rather shy, the younger boy, Sam, seemed grateful to accept the love and security they offered. So grateful, sometimes, in fact, that Val was moved to tears when she and Carl were alone.

Marcus, on the other hand, was a totally different matter. Hostile, suspicious, foul mouthed and unruly, the teen apparently wakened every morning with renewed energy for fresh mayhem. Carl had lost track of the number of times he or Val had been summoned away from their jobs to the teen's school. Or had their sleep disrupted by calls from the police in the wee hours after Marcus was picked up wandering the streets with booze and cigarettes he'd stolen or talked someone else into buying for him with money purloined from Carl or Val's wallets. Or received an angry call from a parent of one of the neighborhood children after breaking up a fight between their child and Marcus. And on, and on, and on. He and Val were trying to be patient. The Wright kids had been thru a horrible trauma. But sometimes Marcus made Carl want to run head first into a wall. What would it take to get thru to the boy? They'd tried everything. Talking didn't work. Grounding didn't work. Neither did taking away possessions or privileges. They had to keep trying. There had to be a way to break past the kid's barriers. But Carl was pulling his hair out to find it. So was Val. Just about the only bright spot in their dealings with Marcus was that Val knew she did not have to fear the boy physically. Once, in Carl's absence she'd tried to prevent Marcus from leaving the house, blocking the door with her body. She tearfully demanded to know from him if he planned to knock her out of the way. In a strangled whisper, Marcus had responded that he would _never_ hit a woman and stormed off to his bedroom, slamming the door.

Carl, owner of his own successful construction company, let his secretary know he was going out and grabbed his car keys. Maybe the drive to the school would give him time to think of something new.

Marcus sat slouched in a chair in Principal Sheridan's office, bored, staring at the ceiling. Banished from the classroom by his exasperated teacher, the principal's office was familiar surroundings for him. He probably spent more time here, or sleeping in detention that he did in class anyway. Sheridan stood in front of him, yip yapping about something. He didn't bother to listen. Just for grins, he decided to push the old bat's buttons. Every time she paused for breath in her harangue, he belched, or yawned, or farted. It got to be great fun. You could practically see the steam coming out of Sheridan's ears. He rolled his eyes and turned his head to stare vacuously out the window. His actions seemed to incite the incensed principal even more. She ramped up her tirade, unfortunately losing control of her temper.

Marcus yawned again. The whole thing had gone from boring, to amusing and back to boring again. He just wanted it to be over. The school, the cops, Cal and Val, all of it. Especially Carl and Valerie Soames. He knew they were too good to be true. He knew they couldn't be trusted. He was rock solid certain their whole caring routine for him and Sam was just a charade. They were trying to lull him, get him to relax, to drop his guard. Then the masks would come off and the pain would start. They'd show their true colors. Beating him and Sam, screaming, calling him stupid and useless. Adults were full of lies and hurt. In Marcus's experience, the only adult he could trust was dead, her brains splattered all over her children in the backseat as they sat eating ice cream on a hot spring day. He sure couldn't trust the cops. They couldn't even catch a man who'd murdered his wife in broad daylight in front of her kids and parking lot full of witnesses. Carl and Val thought they could fool him, but they were sure finding out different. They couldn't put one over on him. Maybe Sam, but him, never. He was tired, though. Maybe this would do it. Maybe this would be the straw that broke the camel's back. He sure hoped so. Sometimes it took so much energy to fight them it was all he could do to stay awake in those stupid classes.

Parking close to J.C. Dixon High School's administrative offices, Carl got out and headed in. The five mile drive had given him time for a revelation. Marcus _wanted_ him and Valerie to give up. To throw in the towel. The teenager wanted them to become so fed up that they would run screaming back to social services demanding that Marcus and Sam be removed from their home. The kid was terrified of being hurt again. Of loving someone only to find out the one he loved had only pain to offer in return. Or that they would go away, leaving him to care for Sam and himself. That was it! For Marcus, witnessing his mother's death was like being slammed face first into a building. All his belligerence was a cover, a protective shield.

Why did it take me so long to realize this, Carl thought. Never mind, that didn't matter. He'd finally figured it out. Taking the concrete steps two at a time, he nodded purposefully. After he'd cleared matters up at the school, he and young Marcus were going to have it out once and for all.

As he neared the offices, he heard yelling. Oh no, I really hope that doesn't involve Marcus. Carl knew that was absolutely the wrong thing to do with this kid. He could hear a woman's furious voice. Principal Sheridan. Rushing past the startled secretarial staff, he jerked open the door to see his worst fear coming true.

Sheridan's crimson visage was six inches from Marcus's face. "Why is it that out of all of the nearly one thousand students at this school, that you, Mr. Wright are the only one that manages to cause trouble every single day. Nearly all of your teachers hate the very sight of you! Do you know why? Because you make it so easy to dislike you! You have no regard for anyone. You are a lazy, worthless, stupid, little throwaway and I-!"

Carl had heard more than enough. Marcus might be a hell raising handful sometimes, but he was also a very troubled kid who needed someone to hang in there and care about him. Why couldn't these people see that? Why couldn't they understand he was crying out for help? That you couldn't put a clock on getting thru to a kid like this one? Hearing Marcus talked to like that made him see red.

He broke into Sheridan's rant. "You hold it right there lady! You can't talk to one of my kids like that! What kind of an educator are you? Do you talk to all of your students that way or just the ones you can't handle? Huh? Marcus is NOT stupid, or lazy or worthless. And he's certainly not a throwaway! What kind of person who says they care about kids would say that?"

Carl put his arm around Marcus's shoulders, and for once received no resistance. Marcus was staring back and forth between Principal Sheridan and Carl, an indecipherable look on his face.

"Mr. Soames!" Sheridan barked, "that child is nothing but trouble! Every day he walks thru those doors and makes everyone he comes into contact with miserable! He is being expelled! He will NOT be allowed to return here! Ever!"

"Don't worry about that!" Carl responded, his own voice raised, drawing the attention of the school security. Two blue shirted guards waited in the outer office. "My son deserves better than this place, and I intend to see that he gets it! Whatever the answer for him is, this isn't it! Come on Marcus, we're out of here."

Turning his back on the florid faced Sheridan, his arm still around Marcus's shoulder, he guided the silent boy past the wide-eyed secretaries and the wary security personnel.

Marcus said not one word the entire ride home. His mind was swirling with a thousand chaotic thoughts, but one finally fought free of the jumble. Carl had called Marcus his son! Carl had stood up for him, defended him! No other adult had ever done that that for him. Norah had defended him, but only against Dylan. Carl had told Sheridan that Marcus was too good for _them._ They really did care, Carl and Valerie. It wasn't an act! They really did care for him and Sam. He realized now, thinking back, that they'd always treated him and Sam both like they mattered. They'd never treated him like damaged goods. They never would. They would never be like Dylan. All of their attention and patience was the real deal, no masks involved. Damn! He and Sam had lucked into a couple of keepers! He wrestled with the stunning revelation, turning his head to stare out the car's passenger side window. As the streets of Brownsville sped by unseen by him, a lump began to form in his throat.

**Year 2019**

"Marcus?" Blair's voice brought him back to the present. He smiled to ease the concern he saw in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" she prodded.

"I'm fine. It's ok, it's just… Remember I told you Sam and I were put in foster care for a while after our mother died?"

"Of course, yes" she answered. She remembered the rest of Marcus's harrowing story, too.

"The family we were placed with was the Soames, Carl and Valerie and their son, Billy." Marcus looked at Billy Soames.

"So, so you…you're Marcus's, um, what do I call you?" she asked Billy Soames.

"Brother" Soames supplied. "It always felt that way. Still does, I guess."

"Yeah, it does" Marcus agreed softly, one corner of his mouth tugging upward. He sobered. Thinking of something, he asked, "Your parents?"

Billy shook his head. "They were in Houston when the airburst hit."

Marcus shut his eyes in pain at the news. Carl and Val. Damn Skynet to machine hell.

"You, um, you've heard about how I'm, uh, about what's different?"

"You mean about the high tech makeover?" Billy said, referring directly to Skynet's alterations of his former foster brother. "Yep, I heard. You didn't know Marcus from before" he said to Blair. I kinda look at it as product improvement."

"Up yours, Billy" Marcus replied, extending a middle finger.

Soames chuckled. "General Connor's waiting on us." He smirked briefly but then added somberly "Uh, I'm uh, I'm sorry about Sam." He didn't know what else to say.

Marcus's face clouded with grief and regret. Not that. Not now. "So am I" he replied, so soft it was nearly inaudible. He took a deep breath. He grabbed Blair's hand. "Come on, let's go see what Connor wants."

They headed for the command bunker, Soames bringing up the rear.

**Author's Note: We've had a glimpse into Marcus's past, and how it can connect to his present. Reviews are welcome. I don't mind constructive, but not nasty. Thanks.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Once more because I have to, I have no interest or ownership in the Terminator franchise, characters or movies. Original characters are mine. **

The Human Condition-Chapter 3

I'd Look Behind Me, But Something Might Be Gaining on Me

**YEAR 2019**

Admitted into the large command bunker, Marcus held open the door, allowing Blair to enter first. She tucked into the shadows. Lt. Soames resumed his prior station in the corner, propping his long legs up on a stack of wooden crates.

Marcus noted the presence of John Connor. Of course, Barnes was there, and a couple more of the California military planners. He saw some ranking officers he didn't recognize, probably visitors. One wore a deep scowl.

You're probably the guy who's been pressing Connor for the additional tests on me. This meeting of the Marcus Wright fan club will now come to order.

"You wanted to see me?" he questioned John.

"Have a seat" Connor replied, indicating a sturdy looking chair that long ago might have begun life in an office. It sat next to a huge repurposed door that now served as a conference table.

Marcus sat, adopting his usual calm posture. Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned back slightly, extending his legs and crossing one booted foot over the other at the ankles, and waited expectantly.

Connor said nothing more for a few seconds, then "how many?" he asked.

The apparent non-sequitur caught Marcus off guard. "Excuse me?" he returned.

"How many banks did you hit?" Connor clarified.

The question straightened Marcus up slightly. Connor watched amused as the emotions on Wright's face changed from surprise to confusion to disgust as he realized where John must have gotten his information.

Doing his best T-800 imitation, Marcus slowly swiveled his head to fix Bill Soames with a flat look of disapproval. Soames suddenly found the ceiling of the bunker to be scintillating.

He turned back to see John Connor studying him, a rare smile hovering just off his face. Glad I'm good for a couple of yuks, Marcus thought ruefully. Then he shrugged mentally. They already knew he wasn't a nun in that other life.

"Forty-three" he replied honestly, not factoring in the non-bank jobs.

Impressed but not wanting to show it, Connor followed up with "Successful?"

Marcus was mildly offended. Was Connor _**trying**_ to insult him?"Yes" he replied shortly.

"I understand there were a couple payroll jobs and an armored car or two also, that right?" John asked next.

Enough with the twenty questions, Marcus decided. Time to find out what was really going on. "Why am I having a job interview?" he asked, instead of answering the last question from the resistance leader.

"Why don't you tell the man what he wants to know?" Barnes demanded, speaking for the first time.

"Why…am…I…having…a …job…interview?" Wright repeated slowly, ignoring Major Barnes, continuing to focus on his boss. His tone made it clear things would precede no further until he got answers of his own.

Instead of words, John Connor leaned forward, toggling a switch on the control board in front of him. A large monitor situated to the side sprang to life.

Immediately mesmerized by the monitor's display, Marcus temporarily forgot Connor and rest of the room. He sat forward, intrigued.

**Year 1989**

Marcus suffered through several sleepless nights following his dramatic ouster from J. C. Dixon High School. He didn't know what to do. Realizing the security offered by Carl and Valerie Soames was genuine was akin to a bomb going off in the middle of his young life. They weren't going to ditch him and Sam. There was no other shoe waiting to drop. No pain, no tricks and no lies. Only the comfort and stability of a loving home. He wasn't sure how to respond to that. Unusually quiet during mealtimes, he had a lot of thinking to do.

Carl and Val couldn't help but notice his pensive attitude. They seemed to understand he was wrestling with something, but wisely, backed off and said nothing. Neither was worried about the whole school issue. Val had a teaching degree from Baylor University. If necessary, Marcus could be home schooled.

For their part, Sam and Billy also sensed a difference the older boy. Surveying Marcus from the corner of his eye, Sam would join his brother to sit on the steps of the rear deck in silence. With Billy in residence on the other side, the trio would often just sit and watch the sunset.

Finally, Marcus reached a conclusion. Thinking back on his behavior since arriving at Carl and Val's, he decided things would change. No more stealing from them or sneaking out at night. No more four letter tirades or doing any and everything he could think of to try and provoke them. He was going to do his best to treat them as good as they had treated him and Sam. They deserved a break. So did Sam. For months now, his little brother had been walking the tightrope. Trying to balance between accepting the peace the Soames house promised and pleasing the brother who'd always been his protector and confidant. Billy might like not having to step light around him all the time, too.

Over the next few days and weeks, everyone noticed a change in him. In private, Carl and Val discussed Marcus's new demeanor, but said nothing to him. No mention was made of his past misdeeds, either. They just went with it. Billy decided it might be cool having two brothers around after all. Sam smiled all the time now. Marcus was finally happy, so he was too.

To Val's delight, she discovered Marcus's cooking talents. His ease and knowledge in the kitchen gave her at least one night a week away from it. That suited her just fine. She'd never regretted giving up teaching full time to take care of her home and family, but free time to do anything that she wanted was always welcome.

Carl's engineering degree, one reason he bossed his own construction firm, allowed him to form a new type of bond with Marcus, who loved taking things apart and finding out how they worked. Many nights Val's exasperated voice would drag them away from a late night huddle over one of the family cars or some other dismantled subject of interest.

He didn't end up being home schooled, however. Not permanently, anyway. Val picked up where the high school left off, but only until the new semester started. Then, enrolling in a new school, Marcus made a fresh start. Making new friends and finding out school could be enjoyable was a real eye opener for him. He dived in head first. Of course, auto shop was his favorite class, but anytime he could get his hands dirty, time seemed to fly. And, to his considerable satisfaction, he found he had an aptitude for math and science. He was astonished at how easy it came to him. Who knew?

The following April, while helping Val engage in an activity she called "spring cleaning" he came across a box filled with old photographs, some framed some not, and articles. They were of Carl. In some of the pictures, he wore a football uniform. In others, he was surrounded by teammates and coaches. One in particular drew his attention.

**"Tisdale High School Varsity Team, 1960 5A Division One Champs"** A much younger Carl, kneeling on one knee and clasping a football, was in the middle of the photo. Marcus read the caption aloud. Val came, looking over his shoulder to see what he held.

"Oh brother, I remember that year" she said. "I had such a crush on him. I thought he was just a dream." She gave an exaggerated girlish sigh.

"Uugh! Yuk! Don't do that" Marcus winced, giving his foster mother the universal teenaged face for "gross."

Val laughed, ruffling his hair. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough, if you haven't already." Her comment was accompanied by a sly wink.

Marcus flushed. Did that mean she'd heard about him and Sherri Carter getting caught kissing behind the concession stand at Sam and Billy's youth basketball game? He sure hoped not. His first kiss was a new and thrilling experience for him, but talking about it with Val was way more than he was ready for.

That night, over dinner, he broached the subject of Carl's high school football career. It was then he found that, given the opportunity, Carl would discuss football until he ran out of breath if allowed to. Apparently, as Marcus was informed, football was king of Friday nights in the Lone Star state. Carl loved the game as much as anyone, and his knowledge was extensive.

"Naturally" he was saying around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, "young Billy here" he said waving his dinner roll in Billy's direction, "somehow got to be a baseball fanatic. He's probably the best shortstop I've ever seen step on to a little league field. He can smack that ball right out of the park when he gets ready to do it too. He'll probably end up playing in the majors some day. I tell ya" he told Marcus mournfully, "I don't know where his mother and I went wrong. Him being so good at_ baseball!" _Carl sighed heavily, mugging for his audience. Billy beamed.

"Cou…could you… could you teach me?" Marcus whispered, uncharacteristically shy. Having spent most of his childhood in Australia, his knowledge of American style football was nil.

Silence hung over the table. He kicked himself mentally. Stupid! Why hadn't he kept his mouth shut? What if he got shot down!

The pleased surprise stealing over Carl's face made him feel much better. "Sure. I sure could. You bet. I still have some of my old footballs in the attic, I think. If Val hasn't gotten carried away cleaning and thrown 'em out, that is."

Val huffed, giving Carl a look. As if she'd touch his beloved pigskins. She rolled her eyes comically as she got up to begin clearing the table. The boys all laughed. Sam followed her out since it was his turn to help with the dishes.

That next day, which happened to be a Saturday Carl turned oversight of his company's current projects over to his two field managers. A trip to the nearest sporting goods store yielded pads and helmets for the boys, at Val's insistence. Marcus and Sam, with Billy J's help, got their first primer in U.S. style gridiron play. Carl taught them how to hold and throw the ball. They got basics in the rules too. It was a day Marcus would always remember.

As spring turned into summer, he, Billy and Sam spent an increasing amount of time running around the Soames family's large backyard, engaged in a rousing game with Carl coaching. The slender but wiry Marcus discovered he liked football. To his great delight, and Carl's secret pride, he found he had something of a passing arm. He became fast and accurate. That fact would serve him, Kyle Reese and Star well years later when they were being pursued by one of Skynet's aerial spies.

**Year 2019**

Rising out of his chair, Marcus walked up to the monitor, still ensorcelled, until he was within arm's length. He studied the schematic in front of him, absorbing every facet of what he saw.

"What am I looking at?" he asked. He turned to look at Connor.

"You're supposed to be the big bad bank robber. You can't tell us?" Barnes challenged.

Marcus refused to take the bait. "This is a vault. Whatever is in there, Skynet cares a great deal about protecting. You can tell because of the extra layers of security" he explained, pointing out the areas in question, "laid around it." He met Barnes scornful look, speaking slowly, as if to a child.

"Every heist needs a focal point, a primary reason for being. Without it, you're unorganized, all over the place, wasting time. I never waste time on a job. I know _where_ it is. I need to know _what _it is. So, I'm gonna ask you one more time. What am I looking at?"

"This." John hit another switch, and a second image superimposed itself over the original. Taking a couple of steps back for a better look, Marcus saw it was an enlarged likeness of a microchip. Not that he'd had a huge amount of experience with the things. In fact, he knew almost nothing about them, his own internal makeup aside.

One of the Arizona top technical people, Vince Lawler, took over at the General's prompting. "What we think this is" Lawler began, "is an advanced prototype that Skynet has developed. It's some kind of, I don't know, the best way to describe it would be to call it a 'super neural net .' What it does, or rather, what it has the potential to do, is make it possible for Skynet's creations, the T-800's and what not, to learn and adapt as quickly as it does itself. You realize what that could mean, right?" Lawler paused.

"Yes." Marcus shivered internally at the implications. All Skynet's functionaries with the ability to think and strategize with the same speed and versatility as their creator. Without having to wait for orders, instructions or programming. Yet with a hive mind. A thousand miniature, mobile Skynet's would increase the AI's lethality immeasurably. His head tilted to one side, body language Connor had come to recognize.

"You said what you think it has the 'potential' to do. You don't think it's been used yet? How do you know Skynet hasn't already fielded it?" Wright asked Lawler.

Connor interceded. "We don't. Not for certain. But, we do know that this technology is very new. The chip is in the late stages of development, nearly ready to be deployed. But Skynet's being careful about the release. It is a prototype, and as I'm sure you're aware, Skynet's been experiencing some, uh, some glitches with its prototypes recently."

It went by so fast, Marcus nearly missed it. His head came up sharply. Wait a second. Had the Great Stone Face himself, John Connor, just made a joke? Nah, not possible. Couldn't be. Then he realized Connor was grinning, not a lot, but grinning. Clearing his throat somewhat awkwardly, Marcus wryly considered that his dignity was taking quite a beating tonight. He snuck a peek at Blair. She put one hand over her mouth to smother a laugh. He saw her smile so rarely that he almost hated to ruin the moment. Unfortunately, it was back to business.

"How do you know this isn't some sort of trick?" Marcus prompted." Something to lure you in? Skynet's played bait and switch before. Worked pretty well as I recall."

Connor's normal grim façade fell back into place. Wright's reminder of Skynet's fake "off switch" ploy cast a pall over the room. It was that incident which catapulted John Connor into his current position as leader of the resistance.

"Again" John told him, "we don't know for sure. But we're as certain as we can be that the chips haven't been put into anything yet. And we need to get our hands on them before that happens. To do that requires the services of someone who knows how to steal big. From what I understand, that's you."

"Sounds to me as if it's not him. I don't think Skynet's broken toy has what it takes anymore. You need to cut him out of this, General Connor. I don't even know why it-excuse me-he is here." The speaker was Jake Peterson, still smarting from the earlier public smackdown from John. Connor was about to respond, but Wright beat him to it.

"I'm here because General Connor wants me to be here." Marcus continued bluntly. "And I'm here because I'm the very best at what I did. If you want to be in on it, sit down and shut up. If you don't, get out and stop pissing away my time. I've got work to do."

Peterson bristled, coming half out of his chair. Marcus's squared up, regarding the Colonel steadily.

"That will be enough." John Connor stepped in. "This has already been settled, Colonel Peterson. Don't raise the issue again" he warned.

Marcus relaxed, eyeballing the monitor again. "When do you want to go on this?" he put to Connor.

"Yesterday" came the response.

Marcus nodded, making up his mind. "Understood. Give me a few hours to pull some details together."

John could already see wheels turning. "Alright, I want everyone back here in six hours" he said, dismissing the group.

Marcus wrapped his arm round Blair's waist as they walked to their quarters. Back in the game again after so long away. Unseen by the beautiful woman at his side, a gleam began deep within his ocean blue eyes.

**Year 1990**

It was late July. For the first time he could remember, Marcus realized he was actually eager for school to begin. The prior semester at Felix Garcia High School had been as different for him from his time at J. C. Dix as night was from day. He had friends and the teachers weren't always on his back. They seemed to think he had academic promise. He was looking forward to finding out how much.

At the high school to negotiate a construction bid, Carl wrangled permission for the boys to run off some of their energy on the empty field of the football stadium. After forty-five minutes of touch football (no tackling, Carl's orders), all three kids now lay on their backs, arms and legs splayed, watching the puffy white clouds roll across the intense blue Texas sky.

Still restless, Marcus pushed to his feet, wandering over to the water fountain. After taking a few sips, he walked over to the glass encased bulletin board mounted on the side of the stadium wall. He idly perused the various notices of upcoming events. One was particularly interesting.

_**FOOTBALL TRYOUTS: VARSITY, JUNIOR VARSITY AND FRESHMAN TEAMS. YOUNG MEN AGES 14-18 ARE WELCOME. SATURDAY, AUGUST 5, 1990. ALLEN THURMAN FIELD FROM 9:00 A.M. TO 3:00 P.M. **_

That night, half holding his breath he hesitantly asked Carl and Val if he could attend the tryouts.

A couple of weeks later, Marcus found himself grouped with boys his age, standing in one section of Thurman field, anxiously waiting for things to get started.

Carl pulled him aside. "Ok, bud. I'm gonna go now. I'll be back to pick you up later."

"What?" Marcus felt mild panic well up inside. "You're not gonna stay and watch me?" He wanted Carl there for support.

"No can do, kid. The coaches think this will all go a lot smoother and quicker without a gaggle of nervous parents getting in the way. They're probably right about that. So, um, so I'm out of here for a while but, I'll be back soon enough. Don't worry. You'll do fine. You've got great instincts and a natural talent. You think fast on your feet and you're good at strategy. I'm not even a little worried. You're going to do great."

Carl gave his shoulder a squeeze, (no hugging with Marcus's friends watching) and left.

Soames drove home, pulling out the paperwork for the Sunderson Plaza bid. He'd just gotten started when he felt a presence in the doorway. He looked up to see his smiling wife.

"I've got a mountain of errands to run" she was saying. "If I'm going to get it all done before nightfall, I'd better get going. Anything you need while I'm out? Besides a half gallon of rocky road from Ice Cream Fantasy, that is" She finished, naming her husband's favorite source for the frozen treat.

Carl's hopeful look turned into a mini pout. "I don't see what harm a few spoonfuls of ice cream could do" he objected.

"It would be more than a few spoonfuls mister, and we both know it. You're supposed to be trying to lose a few pounds, remember? Besides, Dr. Price is concerned about your ticker these days. You gotta cool it with stuff like ice cream." Val would take care of him better than Carl would take care of himself.

He sighed theatrically. Val laughed, blowing him a kiss as she left. With Billy and Sam spending the weekend at a friend's house and Marcus at tryouts, that meant he was alone in the house. At least he would have plenty of peace and quiet.

For a few hours, he worked without let up. Finally, he decided he was a ready as he was going to be to present his bid to the city of Brownsville for their new government complex. He looked around for something else to do. Carl knew he had to keep busy or else he would be back in his truck and on his way over to Thurman field, binoculars in hand. He would not embarrass Marcus that way so…

He was looking over plans from an architect his company did business with when he sensed he was no longer alone.

"Ah!" he grinned. "I knew it! You felt bad about earlier and you brought rocky road to make up for it! I tell you what, you don't say anything, I won't say anything and Dr. Price will nev-" he looked up and broke off mid-sentence. It wasn't Val he was talking to.

An unknown man blocked the doorway to Carl's study. Of medium height, but with a body builder's muscles, the man was dark haired with cold gray eyes. Roughly dressed, there was a cruel twist to his mouth.

The stranger took one menacing step into the room, slamming the door behind him. "Where are they?" he snarled in a low threatening voice. "That whore stole my kids! I've come for 'em! Where are they!"

Carl felt his core temperature plummet. This man had to be Dylan Taylor, Marcus and Sam's biological father, and murderer, before their very eyes, of their mother.

The cops had reassured him and Val that Dylan no longer posed a threat to the Wright boys.

"Don't worry, Mr. and Mrs. Soames" the police counseled, "he knows we're after him and he knows what'll happen when we get him. He's long gone from here by now. No way he'll show his face. He's probably already back in Australia, digging himself a nice deep hole to hide in. You're not going to have to worry about him again. He won't come back here, and if he does, we'll get him a long time before he has the chance to hurt anyone else."

So much for official promises, Carl remonstrated bitterly. So this was the man who'd wreaked so much havoc in his children's lives. He'd come to think of Marcus and Sam that way. He and Valerie had discussed formally adopting the two boys and were waiting for Marcus's sixteenth birthday to present the idea to the brothers. They'd already sounded out Billy J's feeling on the subject. Billy had been so excited his parents were afraid he'd blurt it out and spoil the surprise.

Now Norah Wright's killer was back, thinking to lay claim to his kids as if nothing had happened. Thinking he could just scoop them up like unclaimed property. No way, Carl though grimly. I'm not letting you anywhere near my family, you garbage. You want to get to them, you're going to have to go thru me. He compared himself to the other man. Carrying twenty or so more pounds than from his high school and college playing days, he was still in fairly good shape, his heart issues not withstanding. Dylan Taylor bore all the signs of a man who'd lived a hard life. If I can just get close enough, Carl calculated.

"Haven't you done enough to hurt those kids?" Soames grated. "You're already wanted for killing their mother. I'm not about to let you hurt them anymore. Now you get out of my house!"

Dylan literally growled in response, an ominous sound rising from his chest. Reaching behind his back, he produced a bulldog pug .38. He fired once, the bullet's passing nicking Carl painfully on the ear.

"Aaaaauggh!" Carl yelled, pressing a hand to the bloodied left side of his head.

"You don't get it do you, you stupid wanker?" Dylan screamed, full of rage. "I'm in charge here, and I'm not leaving without those brats!"

"I'm not the one who's stupid!" Carl spat back. "This is Texas, you moron! You think my neighbors don't know a gunshot when they hear one? They're already on the phone to the cops!" Carl stepped out from behind his desk as he talked, closing the gap between he and his gun wielding assailant.

Dylan aimed again, this time directly at Carl's face. "You take another step I'll kill you where you stand!" he insisted shrilly. The faint wail of distant sirens was heard thru the study doors that opened onto the house's rear deck . Taylor nervously turned his head partially towards the sound. This wasn't going the way he'd planned, the way it was supposed to. He was supposed to be in control here! He had the gun. So why did he feel that control slipping thru his clammy fingers?

After months of running and hiding from the authorities, he'd finally been able to come back to look for Marcus and Sam. His intention for coming here was to find and kill them. They couldn't ever testify against him if he shut them up for good! It should have been easy, but instead of being afraid, this stupid cock in front of him was acting as if HE was the one with the power!

The sirens were louder, lending credence to Carl's words. Dylan started sweating for real. He had to find some way to regain the upper hand! And he had to do it quick, before the cops were on top of him! He lowered the .38, pointing it at Soames's knee.

"Maybe a little pain will loosen you up! It used to work for their cunt mother!" Taylor's finger tightened on the trigger. He leered hatefully.

Neither heard the sound of a door opening.

"Mr. Hayden gave me ride home Carl" Marcus's voice called from the front entranceway. Opening the study's hallway door, he ran in, excited. "Guess what? The coaches they think I can be the J.V. quarterback! They want me to-!"

Marcus's brain finally registered the horrifying scene. Dylan? Here? No! NOOOO! It couldn't, it, it couldn't be! How was he here? How…how did he find…why was he…? Marcus was rooted to the spot, his mind screaming for him to move, but his body unable to comply. Too late, as Dylan swung around, he noticed the gun in his father's hand. His eyes widened as he stared down the barrel. Dylan's malicious grin chilled him.

Oh, this was perfect! Dylan crowed silently. Things were finally going his way. Marcus was right here in front of him! Taylor pointed the gun at Marcus's head.

Oh my God! Carl realized. Taylor wasn't here to take the boys, he was here to kill them! In a flash, Carl was on the move! His own safety did not matter. He had to protect Marcus! He threw himself at the gunman. At the same time, he yelled "Marcus, run! Get out of here! Run! Run!"

Dylan pivoted to meet the greater threat, firing at the onrushing Carl Soames. Striking him in the chest, the bullet threw Carl back, his head impacting with the marble mantle of the fireplace with a sickening _**CRACK! **_He slumped unconscious, felled by the double blow.

Before Dylan could refocus on his eldest son he was distracted.

"POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR!" a voice not to be denied demanded, followed by heavy pounding.

His head turned, Taylor failed to keep an eye on Marcus. Jolted out of his shocked stupor by the sight of Carl being shot, Marcus dashed past his father to grab the heavy, granite handled poker. Grasping it by its' pointed end, he swung with all his strength, catching Dylan on the arm. The gun fell from Taylor's fingers and landed on the carpet.

" Aaaahhh! You little-!" Dylan's reached for his son but Marcus agilely dodged out of range and took a home run swing at Taylor's face. Blood spurted. Dylan staggered back, stunned.

By the time he recovered, he opened his eyes to see the gun now in Marcus's hands.

Marcus screamed, **"I HATE YOU!" **This man was responsible for so much misery and pain. Norah's, his, Sam's and now he'd killed Carl! **"I HATE YOU!"** he yelled again, firing at, but missing his homicidal parent, thru a haze of tears.

The police had finally battered their way past the Soames thick oak front door. Dylan heard them pounding down the hallway. Caught between the arriving cops and the son who would not miss again, he chose flight. He bounded out the door and over the deck railing, disappearing into the thick foliage behind the property.

Marcus ran to the recumbent Carl, dropping the gun at his feet.

"Carl! Carl! Carl, please wake up! Don't be dead! Please, don't be dead! Please!" he begged hysterically, bending over Carl, desperate to find a pulse.

Police poured into the room, led by Brownsville's Chief of Police, Martin Suggs. Carl's best friend from childhood, he'd been at his desk on this Saturday, clearing up paperwork and preparing to make his department's case for more funding with the city council the next Monday. His friendship with Carl was the only reason Marcus did not have a juvenile record. The chief was on his way home when the "shots fired" call came over his radio. Recognizing the address, he hit his lights and siren, making a beeline for Carl's house. He swore furiously as he drove. It had to be that little punk again. Marcus. He'd been telling Carl and Val for months to get that kid out of their house. That Marcus was bad trouble that was going to bite them someday. Keep the younger kid if you want, but that older one, shake him off before its' too late. Carl kept insisting that that Marcus had turned a corner. That his behavior was much improved and the kid's days of causing trouble, stealing and fighting were over. Suggs tried to open his buddy's eyes. Tried to get Carl to see Marcus's reformed routine was all an act, but to no avail. The wool was over his friend's eyes good and tight. So, Martin made up his mind to keep an eye on the kid and hope when the boy finally showed his true colors, Suggs could be close enough to do something about it. But he hadn't been. He'd been too far away! And now this.

He sprang into the room, gun drawn, ready for anything, to see Carl lying helpless and maybe even dead, with Marcus next to him, a gun between them.

Marcus rushed at him frantically. "Please help! Please you gotta help him! Please! Dylan came here! He shot him! My father shot him! Please, he's hurt bad! Please, please help!"

His fury nearly overwhelming, Suggs kicked the gun out of Marcus's reach and shoved the teenager away from him and slammed the boy face down on to the floor, hard, cuffing him roughly. Other police went to Carl as the chief watched. Feeling for a pulse, one of the cops nodded. Carl was alive. Martin Suggs closed his eyes with relief. He looked to one of his officers coming in from the rear deck. The man shook his head no, indicating he'd seen no one.

Marcus, his head pinned to the carpet by Suggs's knee didn't see the signal that Carl, though gravely wounded, still lived. Tears poured from his eyes as his breath came in ragged gasps.

More sirens wound to a halt in front of the house.

Wrenching Marcus to his feet by the handcuffs now around his wrists, Suggs seethed. He longed to smash his fist into the fifteen year olds' face.

"I don't see anybody else here but you and him! You did this didn't you? You did this, nobody else! I tried to tell Carl! I tried to tell him what you were, but he wouldn't listen! What happened? He catch you stealing from him again? You did this, and now you're going to pay! Get this trash out of here!" he snarled from between clenched teeth to one of his men.

He pushed Marcus at them. Marcus, thinking only of Carl, twisted and turned, pulling against the hands restraining him, trying to see over his shoulder at his foster father.

"No! No! It wasn't me! It was Dylan! You gotta go look for him! He did this! He's gonna get away again! Please! You gotta go after him! He gonna get away! Please!"

"Shut your mouth! I said get him out of here! I want that little punk in a cell right now!" Chief Suggs roared.

Marcus tried to fight them, but their combined strength was more than a match for his own. The cops wrestled the struggling boy past the arriving paramedics, down the front steps and into a waiting squad car.

Marcus still didn't know if Carl was dead. He banged his head against the window in distress as he was driven away. **"CARL!" **he yelled. **"CARL! CARL! CARRRRRLLLLL!"**

**Author's note: The Brownsville locations are completely made up. I've never set foot in Texas. As with the other chapters, reviews are welcome, as long as they are honest and constructive. If you're just in a mean mood, never mind. One aside: Any depiction of the Brownsville Police Dept. in this story is pure fiction. Respect to the real cops, doing a tough, dangerous job to the best of their ability. Stay safe, guys. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Once again, just to keep the lawyers at bay. I have no claim or interest in the Terminator movies, characters or franchise. Original characters are mine. Here we go!**

The Human Condition-Chapter 4

Its' Not What You Look Like When You're Doing What You're Doing…

**Year 2019**

Marcus watched as people filed into the bunker. Six hours of rest (for everyone except himself,) had chased away the gray pallor from most of their faces. The roster was purposely top heavy with the tech and computer savvy. Their skills would play a big part in things to come. In another reality, Marcus reflected, a lot of these people would have been locked away in a glittering office complex churning out code for some Fortune 500 company or chained to a customer service desk at an electronics superstore, helping clueless suburbanites figure out how they'd screwed up their latest toy. In this one they were blooded warriors. Geeks didn't exist in Skynet's brave new world.

John and Kate Connor arrived. Might as well pop this cherry, Wright figured. "Looks like everybody's here that needs to be" he began. "Let's get started. We're going to need-"

An acid tinged voice interrupted. "Why should we listen to anything you got to say, _machine_, let alone follow any twisted ideas that come slithering out of that metal brain box of yours. I want a human running this show."

A low rumble swept the room in response to the comment. Some heads nodded in agreement. Others frowned in the speaker's direction.

Connor's eyes narrowed as he started up from his seat. Marcus's minute head shake forestalled him. John sat back waiting to see how the other man would deal with the situation.

Peterson's doing, Marcus wondered, or merely more of the same sentiment from another quarter? No matter, this was his to handle. He'd brooked no dissent from the ranks in his outlaw days, and he wasn't having any of it now. He waded thru the assembled group until he was face to face with the comment's originator, a man named Josh Madden. Dispensing with preliminaries, he reached down, grabbed a handful of Madden's crotch, turned around and started back to the front of the room. With his _cojones _hostage to Marcus Wright's vice grip, Madden had no choice but to follow.

On reaching the door become conference table, Marcus released the unfortunate man into the dubious sanctuary of the old office chair. Madden immediately curled into a ball, attempting to cradle his abused scrotum, but Marcus wasn't finished. Raising one leg, he placed his boot at the base of Josh Madden's throat. Pushing, he tipped the chair back on to its' rear legs until it was finally stopped by a support wall and rested his crossed forearms on his upraised knee. He leaned in, putting a slight pressure on Madden's neck and fixed the man with his cerulean orbs.

"You will listen" he said pleasantly. "You will listen, and you will do what I say. You will do what I say to do, when I say to do it, the way I say to do it, because we don't have time for anything else. You screw this up, and I'll rip out your boys and wear them like a merit badge." He smiled to punctuate his statement, and straightened, placing both feet back on the floor.

Madden flopped forward, mewling in pain, cupping his battered testes.

Marcus turned. "Any questions?" He asked pleasantly, still smiling. The silence was deafening. "No? Good, then let's continue."

John Connor watched the entire incident unfold, a faint glimmer of amusement in his hooded eyes. This was a side to Marcus he'd not yet seen. The man had an unorthodox management style, certainly. Connor filed it away for future reference.

"Now, where we?" Wright queried unnecessarily. He knew exactly where he'd left off. "Yeah, right. We're going to need two teams. Team one will have most of the techs. It'll be your job to crack the vault, do the snatch and then blow the place. You'll need to do enough damage so that Skynet won't be able to tell what's missing for a while if ever."

"How are we supposed to do that?" The question came from Rick Donnelly, one of John Connor's best computer experts. One hand strayed protectively in the direction of his groin until he self-consciously snatched it back. "Seeing as how Skynet's got those chips locked up tighter than a virgin's-" Donnelly hesitated, trailing off without completing the sentence.

Instead of answering the question directly, Marcus countered with a question of his own. "We know that I can take information out of Skynet's systems. Can I put anything in?"

Donnelly was nonplussed. "What do you mean? Like programming?" he asked.

"You want to communicate with it?" Connor broke in. "Why? What would you want to say?"

"Oh" Marcus told him, "something along the lines of 'I've been a bad machine. I don't like it out here with the people. They treat me like freeze dried dog puke. Please take me back and spank me."

"Skynet ain't gonna go for that" Barnes scoffed. "It ain't stupid."

"No, it's not" Wright agreed. "And I don't expect it to believe I've come crawling back looking for a second chance. Especially" he added, remembering his pithy exchange of words with the image of Serena Kogan, "since I was told in no uncertain terms that I wouldn't get one."

"Then why-" Barnes started.

Marcus didn't let him finish. "I don't think it's a stretch to say Skynet's probably fairly pissed at me. And curious to find out just how I slipped the leash. That control chip was supposed to be an unbreakable lock with Skynet holding the only key. Didn't work out that way, did it?"

"No, it didn't" Barnes shot back. "And a lot of us are still wondering why."

Marcus shrugged briefly . "According to the Texas DOC shrinks, I have… control issues. Skynet played me. I didn't like it."

Marcus wondered briefly, was John Connor letting his second take point all of a sudden. He decided to worry about it some other time.

"In any case, I gotta figure Skynet's got a dissection table somewhere in one of its labs with my name on it. It wants to strap me down, break out the band saw and take a good look at what's going on." He tapped his forehead.

"You think Skynet's after your brain?" John posited.

"It is only one of the two factory original parts that didn't get replaced" Marcus pointed out. "And the other one is…unavailable." His reference was transparent. "The way I see it, and I don't think my ego's getting in the way, Skynet would love to make more of me, with human brains and T-800 chassis. But, as was, um, pointed out earlier, first it needs to figure out where I went off the rails. And to do that, it needs a long look at my gray matter. If we give it a good chance at making that happen, I think it'll distract Skynet enough to draw attention and a good portion of onsite security away from that vault. Then, all of you who know a whole lot more about computer systems than I do get to do your thing."

"Are you sure your high opinion of yourself isn't at work here?" Kate Connor interjected, speaking for the first time.

Marcus forced himself not to react to Kate's tone. Beside him, he felt Blair Williams stiffen. He put one hand in the small of Blair's back.

"You honestly think your mere presence is enough to make Skynet drop everything and come running after you? It's just going to forget everything else and chase you like a scorned woman? You really believe that?"

One corner of Marcus's mouth tilted upward slightly. Was Kate trying to bait him? She couldn't actually think it would be that easy. He'd outgrown playground insults long ago. Still, he sighed within, it was kind of a shame Kate didn't have some medical duties to take care of somewhere right about now. He didn't dislike her, truly he didn't, but they had a tendency to rub one another the wrong way.

"Back before I became the, uh, pillar of the community that I am now" he quipped sarcastically, "we robbed three banks in one day" meaning he and his old crew. "And we pulled it off because most of the cops were busy somewhere else."

Billy Soames sat up, snapping his fingers. His feet hit the floor with a thump. "The Highland Park Diamond Exchange! Nelson Lee did that job. He was one of your crew up to that point. They had a good portion of the cops in Dallas on 'em by time it was over." Soames gave Marcus a look of shocked realization. "You went after the banks on the same day. You give Nelson to the cops."

"No" Marcus denied sadly, shaking his head, recalling Nelson's ultimate fate. "They already had him. They'd flipped him months before. I knew about it almost as soon as it happened because I had a few sources of my own. I made it work for me, that's all." He looked at Kate.

"Skynet will give chase. My very justifiable sense of my own wonderfulness aside" he cracked "it won't be after just me. Granted, I am the most beautiful man that most of you will ever see" he continued, voice dry as the Mohave, "but hopefully we can make the target a little more irresistible than that."

Near the back of the room, he heard a snigger. Kyle Reese. Things were a little awkward between them for the moment. Kyle had been upset upon finding out he was to be relegated to communication duty for this mission. John Connor made the decision, afraid to risk his once and future father's life on such a big gamble. Kyle did not know who to blame, so he blamed everyone. At least, Marcus thought, the kid didn't completely hate his guts.

"How, exactly?" John Connor put in, taking the reins once more.

Back from your little vacation, I see, Marcus thought. Aloud he asked, "Other than obliterating every human on the planet, what does Skynet want more than anything else? What gives it hot, wet robot dreams?"

"The thought of me, dead" Connor answered instantly.

"Exactly" Marcus smiled slightly.

Uh-oh, Bill Soames thought. I know that smile.

Predictably, Kate reacted first. "Are you suggesting we use John as bait!" she screeched stridently, advancing on him.

"Why, yes Kate, that's precisely what I'm suggesting" Wright replied.

The room erupted.

**Year 1990**

Marcus was cold. His teeth chattered so violently in his mouth he feared they might shatter. He felt lightheaded, empty, hollow. The small portion of his mind that retained sanity wondered abstractly that he did not hover like a ghost in the chill air of the holding cell. His head rested against the gray painted cinderblock wall, red rimmed eyes staring into nothing.

The shadows caused by the light pouring in thru the narrow window of the cell lengthened and then disappeared as day wore into afternoon, and afternoon into night. Had he been in any condition to care, he would have realized he had no idea of how much time had passed. Marcus didn't see his surroundings though. He did not register the hardness of the wooden bench that served as his only seating. He was mind numb. The hellish vision of Carl Soames broken and bleeding on the floor cemented inside his skull, wrapping itself around his young brain and refusing to be banished.

Was Carl dead? Was he alive? Marcus did not know, and no one would tell him. There was no communication with him at all. Several hours after his arrival in this place, a slot opened in the cell's steel door, and a tray containing a sandwich and milk appeared. Left completely untouched, it was removed shortly after. More time passed, and the action was repeated. Another sandwich and more milk were offered and again ignored. He did not want food. He only wanted to know about Carl. Did the man who'd taken him and Sam in, given them a home, shown them how a real man cared for his family still live? Or was Valerie, who'd only shown him love, taken all of his ill treatment of her in stride and returned his thievery and foul-mouthed disrespect with tolerance and support, now a widow? Had his and Sam's presence in the Soames house drawn Dylan Taylor to Carl and Val like the shadow of death? He did not know. Why wouldn't they talk to him? Why wouldn't they tell him anything?

Periodically, he could hear footsteps echoing on the concrete as they passed in the corridor, doors opening, and then slamming shut, muffled conversations. But no one would come and tell him the one thing he so desperately needed to know. Why not? Did they feel he had no right to the knowledge? Did they believe Carl's blood was on his hands? What did Val think? Did she believe he had done this thing to her husband? What about Billy and Sam? Did they all hate him? Never want to see him again? Would he go the rest of his life without being able to tell them the truth? And what about Dylan? Was the monster of Marcus's childhood going to get away with murder all over again? What about Sam? Would Dylan remain free to return and claim Sam as his final victim? Wrung out and used up like soiled cloth, Marcus lacked even the energy to move from the spot he'd been deposited in that morning. He was in the agonizing hell of questions without answers, and there seemed to be no end to it. He only wanted it to be over. At least he would know. He only wanted it to be over.

Unexpectedly, the door clanked open. A burly guard motioned him out into the corridor, indicating he should extend his wrists to be cuffed. What was going on? Where was he being taken? He tried to turn around and ask, but the guard roughly put a stop to that.

"Eyes front and keep moving" the man remarked gruffly.

They walked down the row of holding cells, their footsteps ringing off the walls. The hush of the place made the time feel very late at night or very early in the morning. Ahead, the double layer of doors separating the detention area from the rest of the facility trundled open. Led thru them, Marcus saw the area where he'd been processed in. At the time, in a state of shock, not much had registered. Now he saw desks manned by uniformed deputies and sections set aside where the recently arrested were fingerprinted, photographed and turned into numbers and forms. A group of the unfortunate slumped nearby, shackled to chairs bolted to the floor.

"Please, what-?" he tried again. Before he got any further he was enveloped in a fiercely protective hug.

"Oh, Marcus! Are you ok? Are you alright? What did they do to you? " It was Val. She pivoted to snap at the guard. "You get these things off of him right now!" she barked indignantly. "He should have never been arrested in the first place. You get these off right now!"

Used to dealing with emotionally supercharged people, the guard did not react. Marcus's wrists were soon freed for the first time in hours. He wrapped his arms around Valerie, returning her hug, so weak with relief he would have fallen to the floor had she not been holding on to him.

"I didn't do it Val! I swear I didn't shoot Carl! It was Dylan! I swear! I swear! It wasn't me! I didn't do this to him! I swear!" Marcus babbled in a rush, desperate for her to believe him.

"Oh, honey, I know you didn't! I know it was Dylan! So, do the police, now! They're looking for him! I know you wouldn't hurt Carl! I know you didn't do this! Come on, let's get you out of here!"

Those words were as welcomed to him now as they would be the night Blair Williams helped him avoid certain death courtesy of the resistance years later.

"We're ready to go now" she said firmly to a Brownsville police officer standing behind them.

The officer was Chief Martin Suggs deputy, Rudy Chambers. Nodding once, Chambers gestured towards the nearest exit. He followed behind Valerie and Marcus, eager to complete his escort chores as quickly as possible. Rudy had been present earlier when this woman and her lawyer arrived in Martin Suggs office. Her command of the English language as she'd torn his boss a new one made quite the impression on everyone in earshot, himself included. Chambers was a tough cop. He'd seen it all in fifteen years on the force, and he'd determined then and there that he **never** wanted to get on Valerie Soames bad side. Thankfully, his responsibility for her welfare and that of her children would be his only until they reached the hospital. Then he could hand her off to others assigned to the protective detail.

"Val" Marcus began fearfully, "is Carl dead?"

"No, honey" she smiled gently thru unshed tears. "He's going to be ok. Neither the gunshot or the head trauma was as bad as they first thought. It's serious, but he's going to be fine. That's why it took me so long to get here. I had to be with him until I knew he was going to be okay, and then, I had to calm your brothers down, make sure they were alright and safe. Marcus, I'm so sorry it took me this long to get here!" Val's voice was thick with emotion.

Marcus was so relived at the news that he barely felt the cool air of the pre-dawn morning as they exited the building. It was not until they were at the hospital that all of her earlier words filtered thru his mind.

"Your brothers" she'd said. Brothers, not brother. Her statement included Sam _and_ Billy J. Both, not just one. Was it an accident, a slip of the tongue? He was so drained from the events of the past few hours he could not tell, and he was afraid to ask.

They reached the ICU, where Carl was being care for. Sam and Billy were sound asleep in the waiting room, under the watchful eye of an armed Brownsville patrolman. Chief Suggs, chastened by both his mistaken rush to judgment regarding Marcus and Val's very effective tongue lashing, had taken steps. Until Dylan Taylor was deemed no longer a threat, Carl, Val and the boys would receive lots of extra attention from his department. An officer guarded Carl's room twenty four hours a day and the Soames's would have cops watching the house day and night for the foreseeable future.

With Carl's doctor and nurses strict warning not to disturb their sleeping patient firmly in mind, Val and the kids took a quick look in on Carl. Then she took her family home. What a weekend they'd all had.

Eight hours later, after sleep, baths and breakfast, they were all back. Carl was awake and allowed visitors, providing his company didn't overstay their welcome. Since only two at a time were permitted in his small, equipment filled room, Val and Billy J, by unanimous vote, went first. Marcus and Sam waited along with their uniformed watcher. Bored, anxious to see Carl, Sam leafed thru magazines while Marcus flipped listlessly thru the channels on the waiting room television. Wonder who the J.V. quarterback will be? he thought idly. Won't be me, that's for sure, not anymore. After a while, he wasn't sure how long, Sam was replaced by Billy J on the sofa beside him. Then it was his turn.

Walking the long hallway to Carl's room, Marcus's footsteps began to falter. The closer he got, the more reluctant he was to face Carl. Ahead of him, Valerie finally noticed his lagging behind. She came back to where he was.

"Marcus, what is it? What's wrong?" Val's confusion was evident.

"It's my fault" he confessed shamefully. "It's my fault Carl got hurt Val. Dylan, he came to the house looking for me and Sam. It's my fault." Marcus felt responsible, as if he'd fired the shot himself.

"Nonsense! Of course it's not!" She grasped his chin in her hand, forcing him to look her in the eye. "You are not responsible for this! Understand me! This isn't your fault, Marcus! None of this is your fault or Sam's! Dylan Taylor is the only one responsible for what happened to Carl! You get that thru your head, alright? This isn't your fault! Now, let's go see your dad. Then we can all go grab something to eat! I gotta find someplace that'll be able to fill the three of you up and that ain't gonna be easy!" she joked.

There it was again, Marcus realized with a start. She'd said it again. The words chase one another around in his head. Your dad, your dad, your dad. No slip of the tongue this time. They were both wide awake and rested. She meant to say them. But what did they mean for him and Sam? Before he could pluck up the courage to ask, they were at Carl's door.

Still holding himself at least partially to blame for Carl's condition, the butterflies in Marcus's stomach fluttered madly as he entered. A brief but intense visit with Carl made him feel a lot better. He began to relax and breath normally again for the first time almost two days.

After the visit, Val and Marcus headed back to the waiting room to collect Billy J, Sam and their police escort. Valerie was running the list of nearby restaurants thru her head. She'd need one that could satisfy the appetites of three growing males. They better have a lot of food on hand, she thought, 'cause here we come.

Marcus pushed open the glass door of the waiting room to see that Sam, Billy and the cop guarding them were not alone. A severe faced woman and a man dressed in an ill fitting suit stood nearby. He didn't know why, but their presence made him uneasy.

"Valerie Soames?" the woman addressed Val.

"Yes" Val confirmed.

"My name is Emily Trask. This is my co-worker Al Miller. We're from DFPS, the Texas Department of Social Services. We've come to take Marcus and Sam Wright with us. They're being removed from your care."

**Year 2019**

Hands clasped behind his head, crossed legs propped up on the old office door, Marcus calmly waited, letting the storm his words produced blow itself out. He gave a sideways glance at John Connor. For someone who'd just been proposed as a sacrificial lamb, the General was remarkably unperturbed.

"That's enough!" Connor's raised voice capped the furor. His commanding glare finished off soto-voiced muttering along the fringes of the assembled personnel. He faced Wright.

"I'm assuming you're about to explain yourself" John said, still unconcerned.

"If we're going to blind Skynet to that vault" Marcus said, "we have to dazzle it. We have to give it something it won't be able to resist making a grab for. You and I" he told John Connor, "are very high on the hit parade, but you're number one with a bullet, literally, and you always will be. Hopefully, the combined prospect of being able to get its' hands on me and take you out at the same time will get it so worked up, it'll…reshuffle its' priorities. It almost worked once, too well. You've been fighting the thing a lot longer that I have, but Skynet strikes me as a …creature of habit. I think it likes sticking with what works. If anybody's got a better idea, trot it out. I'm all ears."

Kate Connor was still agitated. "John, you cannot seriously be considering letting yourself be dangled in front of Skynet like a fat worm on a hook!" Hitting the upper registers on the word "hook", Kate pinned Marcus with ice blue fire. If looks killed, he'd have melted on the spot, hyper-alloy skeleton or no. He figured he'd better finish outlining his plan before she came at him a scalpel.

"Relax, Kate" he soothed. "He won't be dangling anything. He won't be there."

Conner broke in "But you just-"

"I know" Marcus stopped him. "But you can't be there. You can't go. You know that. Skynet gets you, even by accident, the rest of us might as well bend over. You can't go."

"But you said-" John started again.

"I know what I said" Marcus didn't let him finish again. "Now let me give you the rest of it." He did, laying out the remainder of what he'd come up with.

The longer the other man talked, the more John Connor came to understand how Wright had acquired the sobriquet "Mad Marcus."

**Year 1990**

"You can't just show up and take my sons, lady!" Carl Soames was livid. Still hospitalized, his condition had been upgraded to stable and he was now in a regular patient room. Ten days after he'd been brought here by ambulance, he was up and moving around under the eagle eyed surveillance of his wife and nurses. His progression towards a complete recovery had been steady, up until now.

"Mr. Soames" Emily Trask returned stiffly, "They are not your sons. Marcus and Sam Wright were and are wards of the state. They were temporarily place with you and your wife. Their father is a dangerous fugitive and he's at large. It has been determined that the boy's removal from your home is in the best interest of both them and your family."

"Marcus and Sam _are_ our family, Ms. Trask" Val informed her, fighting the urge to throttle the woman. "My husband and I have made plans to formally adopt them, both of them. And our other son, Billy is very enthusiastic about it. You can't just take them away with some arbitrary wave of the state's hand!"

"Mrs. Soames, I assure you, the decision was hardly arbitrary. Nor was it arrived at lightly. All the factors have been carefully considered_"

"How carefully could any of this have been considered!" Carl shouted. "You show up less than forty-eight hours after I was shot and whisk my children away without giving us a chance to stop you! Careful consideration my-"

"The fact remains, Mr. and Mrs. Soames" Trask coolly stated "the finding is final, and the boys will not be returned to you." Valerie and Carl Soames could rail all they liked, she sniffed. Emily Trask had the State of Texas and its' bureaucracy backing her up.

"Oh no it isn't!" Carl shouted. "My wife and I know our rights as foster parents! We have every intention of fighting to get our kids back! And we have the resources to do it! You're not getting away with this!" Carl nearly rose, but saw the panicked cast of Val's face at his purpled visage, and settled for pounding the arm of the chair for added emphasis.

Trask was finished with the Soames's. She had her job to do, and a heavy duty caseload to oversee. There was no more time for these people who refused to listen to reason.

"Mr. Soames, the State of Texas is more than capable of meeting any legal challenge you might have. This decision is irreversible and the case is closed. I advise you to move on. Any attempt to get the Wright boys returned to you will be unsuccessful. Now, I have other cases to attend to, so, you'll excuse me-"

"You're not just going to rip my family apart and walk out of here!" This time Carl did get up, block Emily Trask's clear path to the door.

She attempted to go around him, but he refused to let her leave. This was NOT over.

"Marcus and Sam are just as much my children as Billy. I…want…my…sons…back…lady!" A loud buzzing started in his ears, threatening to distract him. His vision took on a gray haze.

"Well, that's too bad" Trask said, abandoning her professional detachment briefly. "Cause it ain't gonna happen, pal" she sneered, moving around Carl to go.

He tried to reach for her, but discovered his limbs no longer responding to his command. Suddenly too weak to stand, he looked, disoriented, to Valerie. The buzzing grew louder, filling his hearing. The room tilted. He heard Val's shouts of alarm.

"Carl! Help! Someone help!"

Then the blackness came.

"I don't know little bro" Marcus said, turning Sam's head gingerly to get a better look. "That's looks pretty bad." Sam's eye was a rainbow of angry black, brown and dark purplish red. Marcus seethed. Those little pricks.

"Yeah?" Sam answered gamely, "you should see them. They won't be trying that again, whether you're around or not."

"I'll bet" Marcus told his brother encouragingly. "You taught 'em what it means to mess with the best, huh?"

"I sure did. I ain't worried" was Sam's answer.

The ones who did this better be, though, Marcus vowed silently. After being taken away from Carl and Valerie without even being given the chance to pack, Marcus and Sam were dumped in the Peebles Children's Home. Ostensibly an orphanage, wire mesh on the windows and armed security at the gates made the place more closely resemble the jail Val had rescued him from.

Many of the home's young residents boasted more than a passing acquaintance with the legal system, so the daily routine was strictly regimented. Independent thought and action was strongly discouraged. Get out of line and get yanked back in, the Wright boys soon learned.

Some of their more belligerent new housemates figured the brother's as easy shakedown material and so tried to do that thing. Marcus, never one to beat around the bush, simply skipped all the pre-fight trash talk and got right to business, bloodying the nose of the biggest mouth in the bunch. That settled the immediate problem but created another. The embarrassed bullies bided their time, waiting for Marcus and Sam to be separated by circumstances. That chance came when Marcus, reverting to his former ways, got into trouble in class. Marcus's two days in detention left Sam vulnerable.

Now Marcus surveyed his brother's face. Tommy Lawrence and Jason Monroe should be very worried. He'd be seeing them soon. They wouldn't see him until it was too late.

This place is a garbage dump, Marcus snorted spitting in the grass as he and Sam walked back to their dorm. Somewhere they can throw away kids nobody wants. Trouble was, somebody did want him and Sam. Carl and Val and Billy J did. Valerie visited, letting them know she and Carl intended to fight to get them back and that they would not rest until Marcus and Sam were back at home where they belonged. They'd hired the best family law attorney in the business, Val told him and Sam. You'll be coming home soon, hang in there, she promised. We will Val, he sighed, but hurry, please.

"Marcus, Sam" they heard their names called as soon as they walked thru the entrance to their building. Marcus turned to see Mr. Craig, the administrator. Now what?

"Come with me to my office, please" Craig requested. Without waiting to see if the boys complied, he started for his cramped, outdated office space. The Wright brothers followed. How much worse could it get?

They had a surprise visitor waiting. It was Valerie, but she and Billy J were only allowed to visit twice a week and this wasn't either one of those days. Why was she here?

One look at her face told Marcus she had bad news. Very, very bad news.

Some weeks later, Marcus and Sam hid in a copse of trees across the street from Carl and Val's. They watched as Val parked, got out and took a brown grocery bag from the backseat. Billy helped his mother by taking the bag from her so she could look for her house key. She looked tired, Marcus considered. The setback of Carl's heart attack on top of everything else and long nights at the hospital were taking their toll. Worrying over him and Sam probably wasn't doing her any good either. After they got settled somewhere, they'd have to call and let her know they were ok.

He and Sam had split from the Peebles Home not too long after her last visit. They didn't blame her for the delay in the legal wrangling, but things got worse by the day there. Marcus did not have worries for himself, but he wanted his little brother out of that place. And there was always Dylan to worry about. The longer they stayed in the children's home, the more worried Marcus was that their father would find them.

Seeing their former foster mother and brother go into the house, both wanted to go inside too, but knew they couldn't. Chief Suggs still had a patrol car stationed outside. Now officially classed as runaways, he and Sam couldn't let the cops see them.

"We can't ever go back there, can we?" Sam asked sadly.

"It's too dangerous for Carl and Val and Billy, little bro. Dylan would just show up looking for us again. 'Sides, CPS ain't gonna let us stay, you know that" Marcus responded bitterly.

"Yeah, I know" Sam was dejected. "It, it's just…" he trailed off, kicking the dirt with his sneaker.

"Yep, sucks don't it?" Marcus agreed. "Come on, bro. Gotta get us some funds together. We got tracks to make." He saw his brother's bleak face. "Hey, don't worry, okay. You know I'll take care of you, right?" he prompted, clasping one hand around the back of Sam's neck.

"Yes, I know" Sam told him. "But Marcus, who's gonna take care of you?" Sam asked back, concerned.

Marcus flashed a cocky grin. "I take care of me, Sammy. Don't you know that? Always have, always will. Let's get a move on." He threw one last look back over his shoulder at his former home, careful not to let Sam see the naked longing in his face, then led his brother away.

**Year 2019**

"Okay" Marcus finished. "Now comes the fun part. You all get to sit down and pick it apart. Tell me what's wrong with it. Don't be shy. You got a problem with anything you just heard, now's the time to say so." He settled back with a daring look on his face.

"I have a problem" Kate piped up again. "You'll be leading team two, right?" she queried Marcus.

"Actually, Colonel Peterson's heading team two" Connor supplied for him.

"But this is Marcus's idea, so team two's really following his lead, correct?" she bore in, not letting up. Connor's wife fairly vibrated with hostility.

Whatever's biting you, Red, Marcus considered, it's not exactly the best time for it to rear up.

"Yes, that's right" Marcus told her and the rest of the room. He didn't need John Connor or anyone else to fight his battles for him.

"What's your point, Kate?" John prodded.

"My point is this" Kate continued. "This will be the most…intimate contact Marcus has had with Skynet since severing the link by destroying the control chip."

"Yes, and?" Connor pushed his wife to proceed.

"So, how do we know Skynet hasn't been waiting for an opportunity just like this one? If it really does have ambitions of creating more Marcus Wright's, we're practically gift wrapping its' chance. We think Marcus has no direct means of communicating with or being controlled by Skynet, but what if we missed something? And what if this kind of proximity gives Skynet the chance to activate what we missed? If the wrong switch is hit, or Skynet can somehow find a way to infect him, this whole venture could go downhill fast. And we might not even know it until it's too late. We might think we've won, gotten exactly what we're after. And then after Marcus is back here, Skynet could be controlling him all over again, getting him to do what he was created for in the first place. Kill you. After all, we wouldn't be expecting it. We'd trust him."

Blair jumped up. "Now you hold on a minute Kate! Why is it necessary to remind you that not only was it _Marcus_ who severed that 'link' you're making so much of by tearing it out of his head with his own hands, but he's more than proven his loyalty to the resistance. How many of you in this room are alive because he took fire that would have killed you? Huh? How many of you have him to thank for still being here because he fought off a Terminator or an H-K? How many of you" she hissed hotly at Kate, "are walking around with his heart in your chest?"

"Williams, stop!" John Connor's voice cracked like a whip.

Marcus stood. He wouldn't see Blair punished for speaking her mind, especially when she was coming to his defense. Not even by John Connor. He stepped up to her side, prepared to take on Connor if he had to. He didn't.

"Kate" John said to his wife, "You've examined Marcus a number of times. Extensively, head to toe. Microscans, MRI's, Xray's , blood tests, the works. You've even detached sections of his endoskeleton for testing purposes. You've had an entire medical and scientific team check him out in every way possible. His computer has undergone the same scrutiny. Have you found anything, anything at all, that would suggest what you just proposed could happen?"

Colonel Jacob Peterson observed the exchange with satisfaction. It looked like John Connor's wife didn't like or trust the machine anymore than he did. She could be a powerful ally. A very powerful ally.

Connor's question hung in the air, the lengthening silence becoming uncomfortable. Kate squirmed.

"No" she finally admitted reluctantly. "We've found nothing. His connection to Skynet is completely gone and I, I can't say the possibility is strong that one could be reestablished, but it's there John, I stand by that" Kate finished.

"Then this mission is a go" John declared. "Let's finalize and get prepared to move."

The fine tuning took another hour or so, with Connor occasionally offering a suggestion of his own. At last, though, no more tweaking was needed.

"Alright, everyone. Wheels up in two hours. Get your gear together" John dismissed the group.

Marcus braced Kate as she was on her way out. They needed to clear the air. He sensed Blair behind him.

"What was that about? " he asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral. "Marcus the machine, deadly saboteur and assassin? I thought we were past all of that."

Kate sighed wearily. "Men" she said to Blair. "Can't live with 'em, can't spend all your time explaining things to them."

Blair grinned.

"Peterson isn't finished" the auburn haired doctor explained patiently, "no matter what John says. He's going to try something else. We need to be ready for it. Now he thinks I'm on his side. Maybe if he does try something, he'll try to bring me in on it and give us a chance to head it off. By the way" she said to Blair, "you were perfect."

Williams took a bow.

Marcus looked back and forth between the two insufferably smug women for a moment.

"You're very good" he told Kate grudgingly. "And you're in over your head" he said to Connor.

"I've known that for a while" John replied ruefully.

Wearing a Mona Lisa smile, Kate Connor sashayed away to the medical tent.

In the bustle of final prep for the robbery/raid, Kate spun about, making sure her medical team would have everything they might possibly need. With their infant son to think of, her feet were as nailed to the base as John's. She meant to make sure her deploying medics could do their jobs. Head down, attention on her inventory list, she was bound to run into something.

"Oompf! Oh, sorry Blair, I didn't see you" she apologized. Something in William's demeanor kept her from moving on. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Tightlipped, the beautiful mahogany haired Blair shook her head and made to walk around Kate.

"Oh, no you don't. Come on, Blair" Kate urged, "What is it? Talk to me!"

Blair surprised her by fighting back tears. Suddenly Kate knew what the problem was.

"He told you, didn't he? Before he told the rest of us? Marcus. He told he planned to use himself as bait for Skynet, didn't he. He told you what he had planned." From Blair's reaction Kate knew she was on the money.

Williams nodded. "Yeah" she admitted shakily. "Most of it anyway. He laid it all out for me when we were alone. Except for that last part. My favorite part." She heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Kate, you should have seen him. He's so….energized by this! I think that he feels like it will give him a chance to really prove he's part of the resistance. He needs that. And he needs for you to all stop looking at him like he's some kind of learning challenged T-800. He feels this can make that happen. As worried as I am for him, I won't mess with his head by playing the moody girlfriend."

"Blair, Marcus started out with a huge handicap, hear me out, okay? " Kate said, quelling Blair's instinctive defensive reaction. "I do trust him, so does John, but a lot people still don't. I agree that's not deserved, but there it is. If he's going to be part of the resistance, then he should contribute whenever and wherever he can like everyone else"

"I know that Kate" Blair said resignedly, "but I don't have to like it" she said, leaving to do her flight prep. The strike teams would need a ride to their objective.

The whine of the rotors and the extensive flight preparations helped keep Blair Williams mind off the worst of her fears. She looked back over her shoulder at the assembling members of team two. How many of them would not be returning alive? Which ones would never see those they loved again? And would one of them be Marcus? The sight of Jake Peterson chilled her, but seeing Billy Soames seated across from the Colonel made her feel slightly better.

Blair longed to be in the cockpit of her A-10, bringing the fight to Skynet at the ends of her guns or the punishing force of a fired missile. Someone else would have that job this time. One of the resistance's most skilled pilots she and the other helo drivers would need to use all of their considerable skills to get the teams past Skynet's defenses.

Marcus climbed into the cockpit behind her. One advantage to being one of the helicopter pilots was that it gave her a chance to be with him before everything jumped off. Placing a hand on her shoulder he motioned with his head for her to step outside.

They were standing in the 'copter's blind spot, affording them a measure of privacy. He pulled her close, stroking her hair.

"Don't be so worried. I have done this before you know" he teased gently.

"Yes, I know" Blair fired back. "But correct me if I'm wrong. This is first time you've pulled a heist on a killer supercomputer with a personal hard-on for you, right?"

"True, but I think I've got a few tricks it hasn't seen before." He smirked immodestly.

Blair rolled her eyes, longsuffering. Marcus kissed her passionately, burying his face in her wealth of dark tresses.

She struggled fiercely not to cry. She won the fight. "You get yourself killed and I'm gonna be seriously pissed" she warned.

"Duly noted" he answered, still holding her close. "You come back to me baby. I don't even want to think of having to live without you."

They broke the embrace, Blair resuming her place in the cockpit and Marcus going to join his team.

"Okay, boy and girls" Marcus yelled to be heard over the sounds of take off. "Let's go make a withdrawal!"

**Author's note: Ok, the big caper is underway! That last remark of Marcus's was borrowed from John Dillinger, but if bank robbers had a patron saint it would probably be old J. D. so I don't think he'd mind. As before, constructive reviews are welcome, even requested. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: To all who may still be interested… Okay, here is the next chapter. It goes without saying, but I will anyway. Original characters are mine. I have no interest, ownership or claim to anything having to do with the Terminator characters, movies, franchise, and so on and so on and shoobee doobee doobee… Let's move on with the story.**

The Human Condition-Chapter 5

… It's What You're Doing When You're Doing What You Look Like You're Doing

**Year** **2019**

The engine noise washing over him, Marcus shook his head to clear it. He'd caught himself going over the details of the job (mission?) again. He knew from experience that obsessing over a heist already in progress would just make him crazy. The whole thing was planned to the best of his and the rest of the resistance's abilities. Any adjustments would have to be made on the fly. He knew that from experience too.

To ease the jitters, he took a walk back thru the big 'copter to where Billy Soames rested, eyes closed but awake. As he sat, Wright noticed Jacob Peterson's baleful frown. Never one to resist an opening, Marcus decided to have a little fun.

"G'day, Colonel. Having a pleasant flight so far?" he asked as the two transport birds grew closer to the Skynet facility on the California/Arizona border. Fighter and bomber aircraft from other resistance groups streaked ahead of them, hopefully to soften the target with a harsh pounding. Others served as protective escort. Peterson, eyes narrowed in disgust, refused to answer. The Colonel stood and moved two seats further away, disrupting others to do so. Marcus gave him the wiseass smirk that had driven so many others nuts in the past. Peterson ground his teeth together and tried to glare a hole thru the metal floor.

"Was it something I said?" he questioned Soames, who was now regarding him the same way a parent looks at a naughty child.

Soames huffed a laugh. "Why you want to go yank the man's chain like that? You still got a genuine talent for pissing people off when you want to, don't ya?"

"We all contribute to the war effort in our own way" Marcus replied modestly. "Think he's any relation to Principal Sheridan?"

Billy laughed again. "Shut up Marcus. You have any idea how much that man wants to stick a power drill up your dark side?"

"Of course I do" Marcus answered. "He's got plenty company. So?"

"So?" Billy drew back to stare at Wright as if the other had lost his mind. "So, why is he on team two? If he sees a chance to take you out and figures he can get away with it, he'll do it. You know that, and you're _still_ giving him your back? I don't get that."

"Get this then, Billy, ok? As much as he hates me, he hates Skynet more. He won't let his feeling about me get in the way of giving it a high hard one. That much I'm sure of."

"But, Marcus, he-" Soames sputtered

"Billy" Wright sought to clarify things for his friend. "Peterson's on team two because he'd like nothing better than to blow my cyber jewels off. If things go wrong, badly wrong, I'm going to need somebody close by who won't have a problem turning this" he tapped the side of his head, "into oatmeal so Skynet can't resurrect me again. Our pal Jake there" Marcus pointed with his chin at Peterson, "I'd say he fits that bill, wouldn't you?"

"And who's going to keep him from making up an opportunity?" Billy asked, still concerned.

Marcus clapped his once upon a time foster brother on the shoulder. "Why, Bill, old buddy, why do you think you're here?" He grinned and rose, walking forward to check on the transport's location.

**Year** **1996**

**BOOOOOOMMMMM! **The Benilli M4 sounded thunder within the confines of the small bank.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Marcus Wright's rough tenor bellowed in a no nonsense tone. "This is a robbery! Everybody down on the floor!" He punctuated his demand with another left handed blast from the powerful shotgun. With startled yelps and terrified screams patrons and employees of the bank dropped to the floor.

The bank's electronic security had already been neutralized thanks to Manny Serrano's expertise. The rest of the crew, with more than two dozen robberies under their belt by now, spread out with practiced ease to carry out their respective assignments.

"Five minutes!" one of the anonymously masked group called out. Swinging around to help cover the frightened civilians Marcus took note of his crew's efficiency. There was zero wasted motion. The First Federal Southwest Savings Bank was relieved of its funds in very short order.

"Three minutes!" the timekeeper shouted. The wail of far off sirens said the cops had dropped their doughnuts and were showing some hustle for a change. They were nearly finished here, Marcus could see. He sensed motion to his right. He looked that way in time to see one of the banks security personnel, probably a retired cop, rise up slightly. Coolly, he sighted on the man with the Beretta 92F in his right hand, shooting the uniformed guard in the shoulder. An agonized cry and splash of blood told Wright his shot had gone where he'd wanted it to.

If you point a gun at someone, you'd better be ready to pull the trigger, the lesson went. So be it.

"You get one warning , old man. That's all" he told the guard coldly, death in his voice. He meant it.

"Time!" With that pronouncement the gang made their planned exit, long before police could appear on the scene.

If you're in the bank long enough for the cops to get there, you deserve to get caught. Do your homework and know your moves before you go in or don't go in. Lesson two, well learned.

The seven member robbery crew was well away from the bank before Marcus relaxed enough to disencumber himself from the M4's custom sling, sliding his wrist free and going thru the necessary motions to disarm the gun.

"Wooooooo Hoooooo! Yeah! Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" Sam yelled, pounding the stolen truck's roof with a fist. The adrenaline dissipating, the younger Wright looked at his brother relieved.

His own rush slowly leaving, Marcus returned the look. "Yeah, little brother. That's how we want it to go, simple and quick." He closed his eyes, fading off towards sleep as Sam followed Manny , Alex and Nelson in the car ahead of them to the gang's rendezvous location. Les and Sean, in the car a mile or two behind the one driven by Sam, kept an eye on the group's getaway trail. They were the first line of defense against any pursuit. The robbery had been nearly bloodless, except for the guard. His own fault, Marcus scoffed, shoulda kept sucking that marble floor. If his early mental tally was close, the take from the small bank would be disproportionately well worth the effort. All in all, not a bad day's work. Dale would have been pleased.

Maybe, I can still find a way to get thru to him, Marcus reflected. It was too bad, Dale ending up the way he had, Wright thought. With the kind of life Dale had lived, he deserved to go out with style, not gasping for breath and gagging on his own phlegm in the geezer equivalent of the Peebles Children's Home. Marcus was sure the nurse's aides and attendants changing the old man's diapers and wiping his chin had no idea of Dale's incredible history. A former bank robber, Carpenter had once rubbed elbows with people like the legendary Willie Sutton. His many and varied associations had once upon a time afforded the stroke and emphysema afflicted elderly man with what amounted to a college education in crime. Knowledge he passed on to two young brothers on the run by the names of Marcus and Sam Wright.

Initially landing in Dallas after leaving Brownsville, Marcus and his brother hadn't been long for the big D. Instead, their path took them south again, past their former home and across the border into Mexico. The rough towns that hugged the border Texas shared with its' southern neighbor exposed sixteen year old Marcus to a life he'd only dimly been aware of before. Outlaw bikers, smugglers of every stripe and the drug cartels filled his every day world. The denizens surrounding him and Sam made him acutely aware of the need to shield Sam as much as possible. Gravitating to their air of lethal ruthlessness he realized instantly that having these people see him as useful to them was the difference between life and death for him and Sam, now thirteen.

Audacious and willing, Marcus's youthful appearance made him a natural choice for border runs. His new mentors took full advantage. Trusting him at first with small deliveries, the scope of his responsibilities quickly grew. When payment for his services for safe delivery of a particularly important shipment came in the form of an opportunity for Sam to live at and attend a school run by the church, Marcus jumped at it. Sam didn't speak to him for almost a month, but knowing his younger sibling was at least out of the line of fire was worth a few weeks of sulky silence.

It was a wild and savage year, with a perilously steep learning curve. Sam's school taught math, languages and science. At his older brother's stubborn insistence, Sam did well, studying and keeping his grades far above the average. Marcus's lessons, of another variety, were brutally pass/fail. Pass and live. Fail and die. Simple enough concept to grasp. Introduced to a myriad of weapons, he became proficient in both the how and when of their usage. The time came that he could field strip almost any gun of any caliber, blindfolded, in under a minute. It was his one percenter biker teachers that taught him how to hit what he aimed for every time, without fail, under any conditions. They taught him to shoot with either hand. He got stomped like a cockroach if they were dissatisfied with his progress. That kind of encouragement made him get good real fast. Any squeamishness about pulling the trigger on another human being also vanished under their icy tutelage. From a towering three hundred eighty pound sixfoot eight road warrior known only as "D" he learned to fashion a sling so his weapon could not be snatched from his hands. They schooled him on bladed weapons, too. After amassing a fairly impressive collection of scars, Marcus could soon handle a knife with the best of his instructors. Over time, word got around about the young blue-eyed gringo and the wealth of cutlery and firearms the boy carried about his person. As Marcus learned to handle himself hand to hand, with or without arms of one kind or another, he gained both reputation and respect.

He gained reputation in another area, also. His dark haired good looks and cobalt gaze drew women to him in a steady stream. Most of them were fascinated by this silent, dangerous man-child who seemed to know no boundaries. Marcus was fascinated by them in return. They enticed with a sensuous mix of previously unknown delights that bore no resemblance to the chaste kisses stolen from Sherri Carter a different lifetime ago. He cut a wide swath thru the females of his acquaintance, bedding them lustily while holding himself back mentally and emotionally. Though many tried, none managed to penetrate that barrier. None would until years later, upon his chance meeting with a certain downed resistance pilot.

**Year 1997**

Most of the work Marcus did was for his biker mentors, including border crossings. Sometimes, he brazenly gutted it out in broad daylight, getting whatever type of delivery he was charged with past some of the toughest, savviest, border guards in the world on the Gateway International Bridge. Other times, on moonless nights, he waded up to his chin, and sometimes underneath, in the chill, dark waters of the Rio Grande to avoid detection. On more than one occasion, thorns from the thick, bruising scrub tore strips of skin away as he sought refuge from the border cops. He celebrated his seventeenth birthday on his hands and knees, feverishly puking up everything just shy of his nuts after startling a venomous spider living in one of his hastily chosen hiding places. Not only did he have to dodge the border patrol, but murderous members of rival gangs, and territorial 'coyotes', pissed at his incursion, without permission, onto their turf. His refusal to pay what they determined to be their rightful tribute soon earned him a position of enmity with the people smugglers. And there was another enemy. One more potentially deadly than all of the others combined. His first solo run thru the Chihuahuan desert was nearly his last when he ran out of water. Only the sheer dumb luck of stumbling across a small spring saved his life. After that, he always made sure he had enough water to last even if he got into trouble. Armed to the teeth and growing more sage by the day, he took whatever steps were necessary to protect himself and not disappoint his sponsors. He was dead if he got caught. Sam too, so, he didn't fail.

He was mostly successful at avoiding any direct dealings with the various Mexican drug gangs. Sadistic and merciless the drug lords garnered a healthy dose of fear and respect from him. As he passed from seventeen to eighteen, Marcus dealt with the bloody cartel members only second or third hand, taking his orders instead from the tattooed, leather clad riders he hung around with. He preferred it that way and so gave the drug lords and their business as wide a berth as possible, especially the _Asesinos de Bebés_ and their boss, Osvaldo Serrano. The teen decided it would probably be a good idea not to get on the bad side of someone who'd had his own cousin publicly beheaded as repayment for a suspected betrayal, then raped the widow in the limo on the drive home from the cemetery. Serrano's vengeance even extended to his late cousin's children, a boy and girl. Eight and nine respectively, the youngsters were sold to a ring that trafficked in child prostitutes. The kingpin of the _AdeB's_ had a brother, Manuel, called Manny, who was allegedly some kind of techno wizard and was away at university. His older brother was inordinately proud of his studious and academically gifted sibling. He was slightly older than Marcus and the young Wright did not ever imagine his path crossing that of Manny Serrano's. Marcus was about to discover how much trouble he could get into by assuming.

**Year 2019**

The infant's cries pierced the blackness surrounding him, forcing Marcus Wright to halt his progress long enough to quiet the child. Shushing the baby into silence, he picked up his weapon and continued, making his way further into the viscera of the machines. John Connor's enraged growl played a constant note coming thru the earpiece in his left ear.

"Wright! You traitorous mongrel! When I finally get my hands on you, I'm going to rip you apart! If anything happens to my son, I'll tear that diseased brain right out of your head myself! Do you hear me? Wright? Wright? You hear me? I'll gut you? Wright? **WRIGHT!"**

Good, Marcus smiled, coldly satisfied. Connor's normal gruffness was filled with choler. The man sounded unhinged, off balance. Excellent, Wright considered. Just what we want. You go right ahead and scream your head off, Connor. Tell me all the nasty little things you're going to do to me to get your kid back! Keep it up! Bet you're sorry you woke Mad Marcus up now, huh? "What's the matter, Connor? Never saw this coming, did you? Did I forget to mention this part of the plan? Well, come and get me, O Great Savior of Humankind. Follow me right on in, just like last time! Only this time, things 'll turn out a little different won't they?"

"Hey Connor" he taunted, "I think this little mutt needs his nappie changed. He's pretty ripe! Better come and get me before the smell does! Damn, your kid stinks!"

"Wright! You son of a-!" What Marcus was a son of went unheeded by him, although he could probably take a pretty good guess. He tuned out his pursuer's wrathful tirade in order to concentrate on the path ahead. He had more than little baby Connor's frantic, furious father and the resistance to contend with. Somewhere within all the twisted wreckage of this metal and wire infested mess, T-6 and 800's also hunted him, and his frail, feebly keening cargo. He wasn't sure which Skynet wanted most, him, the baby or its preeminent enemy, John Connor. He grinned manically. Did supercomputers salivate? No. But right now Skynet was probably doing the machine equivalent. Whatever the case, he wasn't ready to be found just yet, by anyone, human or inhuman. Not yet, so, gotta keep moving. The little bundle in his arms became inconveniently noisy once more. This kid was becoming as much a blathering pain as his old man.

"Time to shut you up, Junior" he told the wailing kid. He did what he had to do and kept moving.

**Year** **1993**

Taking a sip of water from his dwindling supply, Marcus rinsed and spat, clearing his mouth of the accumulating grit. He noted the sun's position. It looked to be getting on towards late afternoon. Outstanding. He'd get to trade brain boiling heat for freezing his balls off. Better than ending up with Blood Dog's size ten grinding them into paste, he decided. He felt around for the small but very important package he'd been entrusted with for this run. He brushed the 4" x 6" bundle with the fingertips of his right hand. He had no idea what it contained. Drugs or maybe stones, of the diamond kind. Maybe something else. Marcus didn't know and didn't want to. Blood Dog and the others, they never told him and he never asked. It was better that way. He never opened any of the shipments. If he didn't know what they contained, he couldn't be tempted to do something stupid, and in the process, be cutting his and Sammy's throats.

He waited a while longer. The sun was almost completely gone now, hues of bronze and deep russet mixed with charcoal gray coloring the wispy clouds. The rapidly cooling air stirred. A faint breeze would be his journey's companion tonight. Time to move. These goods, whatever they were, needed to reach their destination by nine tomorrow morning. Checking his environment as he emerged from his bivouac, he could see nothing around him but rock, sandy dirt and thick scrub. His ears caught the sound of rustling in the nearby brush as the desert's nocturnal hunters began their nightly rounds. He made it a point to head away from the sound. Whatever creature making it mostly likely used venom to immobilize its meal. Bon freakin' appetite, he told it silently, moving off. He remembered the phrase from one of Sam's school books, which he occasionally borrowed. He sometimes stole a moment or two in the church school's library. Just because he'd dropped out of school didn't mean he had to be ignorant. Abstractedly he hoped Carl and Val would've been at least a little comforted by that fact.

Experience and a smart choice of footwear gave him the ability to move noiselessly up the slight slope he needed to traverse and north in the direction of El Paso, his ultimate destination for this trip. Stopping only to slake his thirst from the small canteen he carried, he made good progress. He'd been traveling for two nights now, mostly resting and staying out of sight during the day. It was good the trip was nearing completion. A hot shower, a hot meal, a hot woman and some sleep. Knowing those things, in that order, waited for him in Texas prodded him on.

Marcus slowed, and then stopped after walking for a couple of hours. The unmistakable sounds of a man being beaten wafted over the short bluff he hurriedly took refuge behind. With the greatest of care, he very slowly poked his head over the edge, careful to make no movement which would give his presence away.

Kneeling, hands bound behind him, a young Hispanic man Marcus judged to be around his own age was surrounded by four men. Each of the luckless victim's tormentors took turns delivering blows or kicks, laughing as the splattering blood from the man's nose and mouth splashed their clothing, hands and boots.

They keep this up, Marcus thought, that dude ain't gonna last too much longer. He didn't recognize the recipient of the brutal beating, but the ones doing it, he knew who they were right enough. Pepe Aguilar and his brother Jose, and a couple of the mouth breathers they kept around to help with the grunt work. The Aguilar brothers were coyote's, among other things. Their main source of income was smuggling human contraband across the border for a price. Way too high a price if you asked him, the teenager snorted derisively. The Aguilar's, it was whispered, confiscated the panties of their female clients, informing them after escape was no longer possible, that the garments would be unnecessary. The women, especially the pretty ones, and probably some of the young girls too, and maybe even the boys, arrived to their destinations used up in every horrible way. If, that was, they arrived at all. Some did not survive the unforgiving savagery of the trip. The casualties, their corpses left to decompose or be otherwise disposed of by the dwellers of this terrain, served as sign posts to those who followed.

"_Alto!"_ Pepe Aguilar yelled, grabbing the foot of one of his henchmen as the goon moved in for another kick to his target's face. Without regard to his "employee's" position, Aguilar shoved the thug backwards by the leg he gripped, grunting with crude laughter as the man landed too close to the camp's fire and had to roll away, slapping out flames from the blaze as his clothing caught.

"We're not trying to kill him, _pendejo_!" He hissed. Turning back to the groaning man on the ground, he knelt, seizing a fistful of the young man's black hair. "Well, _hijo de puta, _how much does your brother love you, eh? We're going to find out, ain't we? We're going to find out if he wants you back in one piece or if we send you back to him one piece at a time."

Better hope this brother of yours thinks you're worth the coin, _amigo_, Marcus thought, surveying the bloody, battered object of what was now, apparently a kidnapping. In any case, it wasn't his problem. He had business of his own to tend to. His payday, some nice warm poontang and a ribeye with a beer chaser beckoned. He'd maneuvered himself back from the edge and was about to leave the scene altogether when Jose Aguilar spoke up.

"What you want to do with him for now?" Jose questioned his brother. "We got to keep him somewhere while we deal with Osvaldo."

Osvaldo. The bleeder lying in the dirt at Pepe and Jose's feet had a brother named Osvaldo. Marcus froze. He only knew of one man with that first name. Only one with enough scratch to pay the kind of ransom the Aguilar's were likely to demand. That made the unfortunate man they'd captured and hogtied… the coyote's new chew toy had to be Osvaldo Serrano's pampered college boy brother Manny. But that didn't make any sense. The kid was supposed to be off cracking the books at some high end university in the States. So how'd he end up here, at the mercy of two of his brother's enemies, with his brains half bashed in?

Marcus found himself on the horns of an unexpected dilemma. On the one hand, his delivery absolutely had to be completed on time. He wasn't that far away. He could just back out of here and be on his way. It was the smart thing to do. On the other hand, here was a golden opportunity to do a little bit to the Aguilar brothers what they done to so many others, like the younger sister of one of his friends. Desperate for the opportunities she believed waited north of the border the girl had placed her fate in Pepe's hands. Her body had been discovered by U.S. Border patrol agents, so busted up internally from the abuse that she'd hemorrhaged to death. Out of his head with grief, Marcus's buddy had challenged the Aguilar's and, not too long after, disappeared without a trace. A measure of payback would feel real good.

He spent maybe a minute or two trying to talk himself out of the crazy scheme before deciding to go for it. Problem was he was way outnumbered, outmuscled and outgunned. Hidden in his clothing right now he had four guns and a couple of really nasty knives. Jose, Pepe and their hired muscle could still swat him like a bloated housefly without blinking. Taking them on in a straight up fight was so not going to happen. He'd have to think this one thru quickly. Then Pepe Aguilar solved part of the problem for him.

"We'll take him with us to El Paso. I know where we can keep him. Get him into the truck. We need to be going anyway. _Rapidamente!" _Pepe said to his waiting men, gesturing at the nearly unconscious Manuel Serrano.

El Paso. Yeah, baby, yeah. The sicko brothers were headed the same place he was. How perfect was that? It was like some kind of sign. He had to get down there unseen before they took off and left him.

Pepe, Jose and the two others, after dumping the younger Serrano in the back of their large SUV, moved to the other vehicle they had with them. Tonight's cargo was electronics, not humans. While the Aguilar's and their hired help were attending to the other truck, Marcus made his move, with his sphincter doing a belly crawl into his throat the entire time.

Finally, they were ready. "_Vamanos!_" Pepe yelled, climbing into the SUV's passenger seat. Jose was to be the driver. The caravan departed, unwittingly bearing an extra passenger along for more than just the ride.

**Year** **2019**

Marcus arched backward, sucking in a sharp breath as the shot from the T-800's plasma rifle scorched his cheek, leaving an ugly streak. Close, way too close, that time. Withering fire from Marcus's specially (and personally) modified weapon brought the machine down, but it took an enormous effort before the thing's glowing red eyes faded to black. He gingerly poked the stinging burn, wincing in pain. The kid was bawling again. Being targeted by killer robots didn't seem to agree with the Connor scion. Imagine that. He quieted the boy again. How did women manage this whole nurturing every day without going nuts? Yeesh!

He chuckled soundlessly. "You think Skynet's pissed?" he asked the baby. He certainly hoped that was the case**. **_El Machine Jefe _was having a sucky night. Monitoring the action over his earpiece, he knew that team one's objective had been achieved. Under cover of the aerial grief visited upon it by the resistance bombers, the freq genies were able to slip past Skynet's defenses and breech the under defended vault. They had Skynet's dress over its head, its bloomers off and two fingers in. Hearing the news, Marcus felt a familiar tingle working up his spine. Even Skynet hadn't been able to eliminate that.

The supercomputer couldn't pin down John Connor, either, as the resistance chief desperately followed Marcus in pursuit of his helpless offspring. And the AI couldn't seem to lay a hyper-alloy glove on the ex-con turned prototype turned resistance fighter turned…what. Hmm. Marcus pondered for a second or two. What was he now? Kidnapper? Monster? Turncoat? All of the above as far as the murderously angry Connor was concerned. Sometimes you should let sleeping death row criminals lie, General. He thumbed the tiny transmit switch on the modified communicator in his ear.

"Hey daddy , think Skynet will go grease monkey on your brat right way or pop him into cold storage for a few years? Maybe it'll do both, huh? Get the computer chip in right away and then put the little rug rat on ice until its ready to start attaching parts. Don't you just hate brain teasers? Oops! My bad! Poor choice of words there!" he apologized mockingly.

"Wright! If any harm comes to my son…! You're a dead thing! You hear me! You think what we planned to do to you before was bad! This will be worse, much worse! I promise you that! I'll dismember you so slow you'll scream to be put out of your misery, you bastard!" John Connors raw fury seemed capable of finishing Marcus off all by itself.

"Blah, blah, blah" Marcus sneered, tuning Connor out once more. He braced against the steel polished wall with one hand and tucked the infant in closer to his body with the other as he heard a dull, sullen roar. Team one. That roar told him they had the chips in their possession and had blown the charges they'd brought with them. It was nearly time to wrap up his part in the festivities. But he had to admit, if only to himself, and way, way deep down inside, this was still the best ride in the park. Temporary though it was, it felt, as Alex Cordell would have put it, "better than much fine sex." Took your advice Serena. I remembered what I am. How do you like me now?

He straightened and turned, just in time to see a pair of HK-drones taking aim at him. Spinning around, he cradled the infant, protecting the little one from harm with his engineered body as he was knocked off his feet by the twin blasts. Hell, busted. Well, they hadn't expected to stay ahead of Skynet's programmed forces for too much longer any way.

"**AAAAAUUUUGGGHHHH! **He screamed in agony as the searing pain traveled across his back. He struggled to bring his own weapon to bear, but didn't quite succeed and another hit from one of the drones clipped his left arm. The AA-12 dropped from suddenly numbed fingers. Grunting with effort, he lunged for the weapon. Taking exquisite care, he kept himself between the boy and the machines. He scooped up the baby and, half ran, half crawled along the recessed lighted hallway, dodging more shots from the floating hunters. He only needed to keep Skynet's attention for a few more moments. Long enough for… His earpiece abruptly crackled to life, giving off five clicks. That was it, nothing more, but it was what he'd been waiting for. Those innocuous clicks meant team one was now on the way home. Just what he wanted to hear. Time to bring down the curtain on his little production and ditch this warped funhouse.

"Well, Junior, it's been real, but I think this is where we part company" he told his small charge. "Time for you to spread your wings and leave the nest." He placed the blanket wrapped baby in a corner and spun around, finally able to take out both his flying nemeses with his enhanced reflexes. Before he had chance to heave a sigh of relief, a pair of T-800's appeared in the wake of the H-K's bearing down on him with predatory speed. Two of them. Oh, no. One was hard enough to survive. I love you Blair, he thought, readying the AA-12, knowing it was a useless action.

The 8's were nearly on top of him when an RPG blast from behind the Terminators took off the head off of one. The metal skull separated completely from the body, whistling over Marcus's head to embed in the wall above him. The other 8 turned to meet the unexpected threat and was greeted by a brace of rocket propelled grenades, expertly placed by the arriving remaining members of team two, led by Billy Soames and Jacob Peterson. Smoking metal littered the corridor. Resistance fighters made sure the machines were out of commission with temple shots.

"Took your time" he growled with mock indignation at Soames.

"Up yours, Marcus. It was your idea to split up" Billy snapped back. "Let's make it look good. Really give Skynet a reason to chase me! Well, it worked genius. You got chased. Ya happy now? Get up and let's go, okay?" Soames extended a hand, straining, even with his own considerable heft, to pull Marcus's bulk off the cold floor. The former U.S. Marshal needed help from Steve Hamil, one of the other team two members.

"Gladly!" Marcus replied, issuing a shaking sigh of unadulterated relief.

"What about little Connor?" Billy asked, indicating the swaddled bundle in the corner. Shrill cries issued from within the blanket folds.

"Leave it" Marcus responded shortly. "We don't need it anymore. Let Skynet figure out what to make of it. Come on! I'm more than ready to see the last of this place." He touched a finger to the reddish black oozing plasma burn on his cheek, still tender but already beginning to heal. Team two headed for the extraction point, leaving mangled terminators and the wails of the defenseless infant echoing off the metal walls. As he ran, Wright flashed back to the planning session in the command bunker.

"_**Now let me give you the rest of it…." He was saying to John Connor. "You're right" he told Barnes. "No way Skynet is gonna buy that I'm gonna walk back in there begging for forgiveness, no matter how much I piss and moan about being crapped on by the resistance. And" he told Connor, " it's not gonna go for me being able to get past all the security you have around you so I can drag you back in with me. What it will buy is you following me in, like last time. It used me to lure you within reach once. Why not let it think it's going to work again?"**_

"_**I won't be there, remember" Connor countered.**_

"_**Skynet's going to think you are. And it's going to believe you want to flay my miserable hide down to the metal skeleton one millimeter of laboratory manufactured skin at a time." **_

"_**Why would it believe that?" John questioned. **_

"_**Because" Wright answered, a sliver of his mind remembering his first night among the resistance. The night John Connor had bloodlessly ordered him to be hunted down and eliminated. Marcus tried to feel guilty about enjoying what he was about to say, but couldn't quite get there.**_

"_**Because, I'll have your son" he told the Connors, crooked smile manifesting. He clinically relished the fusion bomb effect his words had on Connor and his flame haired wife. **_

_**Only the iron control John had spent his entire life developing kept him from pulling his ever present side arm and killing Marcus Wright where he stood. Kate, teeth bared and fists clinched, was halfway to Marcus before her husband managed to restrain her.**_

"_**You know, the both of you are way too easy" Marcus laughed, breaking into a feral grin. "Settle down. Your little bundle of joy is safe" he told the parents. "He's not joining the resistance just yet."**_

_**He explained. "Back when the earth was new, before running water and electricity, I was in high school for a couple of minutes. One of the more bizarre experiences of my all too brief academic career was a 'parenting class.' It was supposed to teach us what we had to look forward to if we didn't wear a rubber and knocked up the girlfriend. We had to pair up with a classmate and pretend to be parents. They even gave us a fake baby. Thing had a computer inside. Ask me if that doesn't feel weird now, under the circumstances. Anyway, it was programmed to cry and wet and generally be as much of a pain as a real kid." **_

_**He grinned at Star as he said this last. She'd somehow wormed her way into the tent and to his side. She stuck her tongue out at him. He winked at her. Star giggled silently.**_

"_**Came with a key we had to insert when it was feeding or changing time, or if the thing was just demanding attention. We had to take turns taking the little darling home every night. I hated that class. The other day, for some reason, one of your scavenging parties brought back a half dozen of the things they found in an underground warehouse somewhere. At the time, I figured it was one of the more asinine things I'd ever seen any of your people do." Marcus turned to look at Dave Shields, who'd been a member of the scavenging party in question. **_

"_**I owe you an apology" he said to Shields, "cause now I think one of the little plastic buggers is about to come in handy. Oh, and, uh, one more thing, Connor." He moved a little apart from Blair. She hadn't heard this yet. "I kind of need you to let Tim Hutchins out of the stockade"**_

"_**Hutchins is one of the two men who tried to kill you a few weeks ago. He fired that RPG!" Blair objected.**_

"_**Yes, baby, I know " Marcus soothed her. "But he also bears an uncanny resemblance to a certain General in the resistance. 'Specially with a cap pulled down far enough so Skynet can't face rec 'im. Kinda sounds a lot like you too" he finished up talking to John. "His get out of jail card isn't free. Let him earn it". **_

"_**He almost killed Star too, Marcus!" Blair continued. **_

"_**Do you think I've forgotten that?" Marcus asked. "If we're going to pull this off, we need him. After it's done, if he makes it back alive, Connor can ship him to the moon for all I care, but right now we need Skynet to think Connor's chasing me to get his kid back, and Hutchins is the best chance we have of doing that!" **_

_**He glanced down at the little girl. Star looked up, pressed her lips together and nodded firmly, just once. He looked back at Blair. **_

_**She subsided against their united front, still visibly upset at the thought of Marcus and Star's would be assassin walking free.**_

"_**What team's he on?" Barnes put in guardedly. **_

"_**Neither" Wright told him. "I'm mad, not stupid. He's all yours. You can keep an eye on him. Billy's already gonna have his hands full." He didn't mention Jake Peterson's name. He didn't have to. "And anyway, by now, Skynet knows where Connor goes you usually follow. Hutchins will be more believable as Connor if you're shadowing him. Make sure he sticks to the script, screams and yells his intention to rip out my machine innards at regular intervals. That shouldn't be too hard for you. Besides, Hutchins wants me dead, you want me dead. You have a lot in common. You were made for each other."**_

_**Barnes mouth twisted, preparing an angry retort.**_

"_**That's enough, Marcus" John Connor intervened, heading off the rancorous exchange they didn't have time for. Connor turned to Barnes. **_

"_**Get Hutchins. Make sure he understands the conditions of his parole" he ordered. **_

_**Barnes nodded and left. **_

"_**Barnes is a ranking officer, Wright. "Don't disrespect him again. Understood?" John Connors' hazel eyes were granite hard. **_

"_**Yeah, sure, I got it" Marcus replied easily. Sit, stay, he ordered his long dormant teenaged hellion self. **_

_**After dismissing the strike force, once they were alone, Connor had a blunt warning for Marcus. "Don't make me regret trusting you with this."**_

"_**Why would I do that?" Marcus asked, dripping innocence as he walked away. **_

_**Just before takeoff, he studied the face of Tim Hutchins as the man boarded the team one chopper behind Barnes. The bald hostility in Hutchins gaze might have shaken someone else. Marcus Wright didn't even blink. Later, Timmy, he thought. Right now, we have work to do. **_

"Peterson, down!" Marcus shouted , mind returning to the present. Diving forward, he knocked Jake Peterson to the ground. A searing bolt from the T-800 lining for the Colonel's head instead struck Wright's flesh encased right shoulder. Melting the skin away, the exposed metal gleamed.

"**HIISSSSAAAAAAAAAUUUHHH!" **Marcus exclaimed painfully, fingers tightening reflexively around the AA-12. Shunting the white hot pain aside, he sighted and fired on the advancing terminator in one smooth motion. The powerful automatic shotgun belched repeatedly, joined by fire from the rest of team two.

"Get away from me you damn machine!" Peterson shouted, shrugging his way out from under Marcus's weight with difficulty. Bringing the primed bazooka to his shoulder, he fired at the 8, bringing it down at last.

Marcus rolled away, gaining his feet just in time to be greeted by several H-K drones and yet another T-800. A shot from a drone dropped him to one knee. Off balance, he swung around to take the thing out. _**CLICK! **_What? Unbelievable! He'd neglected to count his shots! He hadn't done that since his first solo robbery at eighteen! Breathlessly he forced himself up, fumbling for his backup with desperate haste. The drones met their end at the hands of Steve Hamil's RPG specialists. Good thing, since Marcus had a far more pressing problem.

The 800 was running, moving with blinding speed. Part of Wright's mind found a split second to observe that it seemed to be ignoring all of the other resistance fighters, coming straight for him. He'd have taken the time to appreciate how well his plan to draw Skynet's attention was succeeding, if he wasn't about to have his artificially cultured skin turned label side out by the AI's highly efficient killer.

"Runnin' low!" Hamil yelled, frantically trying to zero in on the terminator before it could close the distance to Wright. With no more rockets to fire, he was down to his BAR. The resistance fighter had only partial success, knocking the thing's plasma rifle from its hands.

Too late! The monstrous unman was on Marcus in a single leap, its skin wrapped hydraulic powered fingers contacting around the ex con's throat in a death grip. With all of his own not inconsiderable strength, Marcus struggled to break the 800's hold. He felt his trachea begin to collapse under the enormous pressure, as blackness danced at the edges of his vision. Fighting for his life, he kneed the creature with all his remaining ability. It bucked and reared above him like a bull rider, its glowing eyes boring into him malevolently.

Marcus rumbled at his opponent, fury taking over. I…will… NOT…leave…Blair…like…this! I won't let you take me! A purely human determination that he would not be kept from her seemed to channel added strength. Somehow, in his oxygen depleted state, he still managed to raise both legs, wrapping them around the 800's torso in a bizarre imitation of a lover's embrace. Running out of time and air, he rolled, flipping the killer 'bot, reversing their positions. Now above it, he found it no easier to break the thing's grip on him. If he didn't do it within the next ten to fifteen seconds, he never would.

Thunder and lightning smote him, robbing him of sight and hearing. The T-800's grip was suddenly broken, its head tilted at an impossible angle. Firing point blank into the metal monster's temple, Billy Soames killed the crimson glow once and for all.

Gasping and gagging, Marcus sagged against the wall, shuddering. He eyed Soames, conveying with his look what he was yet unable to say aloud.

"You're welcome" Billy responded solemnly. Together with Steve Hamil , they again hoisted Marcus to his feet.

"Let's move" Wright instructed.

Jake Peterson brushed past him. "This is my squad, machine. I give the orders!" Peterson bulled ahead.

Marcus was too bruised and battered for Peterson's words or attitude to bother him. They had what they came for. Now he only wanted to get to the extraction point, hop in the chopper and go home. The wind down had always been the part of any job he'd hated the most.

Skynet's pursuit lightened as they neared the exit of the underground tunnel. The team encountered no more T6 or 800's and only one H-K.

"Maybe even Skynet's only got so much it can throw at us at one time", Hamil speculated aloud.

Still, it paid to keep on their toes. They weren't out of this yet. As he emerged from so long underground into the open, Marcus squinted, protecting his eyes from the brightness of mid-morning. The compound around him was a chaotic collage of death and destruction, most of it machine, but not all. Some of those still, broken forms were human. Whenever possible, the dead were gathered up for the return flight home. Not only would their loved ones appreciate the chance to say goodbye, but denying Skynet more subject matter was an important factor.

The punitive air assault which preceded the arrival of the resistance's ground forces was evident in the light opposition up top. Marcus could see the waiting helicopters a few hundred yards in the distance, blades whirling in expectation. Knowing Blair's welcome countenance was ahead gave him a fresh wind. He picked up the pace, but noticed an injured member of the group faltering. He doubled back, draped the man's arm around his neck and wrapped one of his arms around the other's waist. With his wounded teammate limping gamely, they struggled on.

The closer they got, the more uneasy Marcus grew. Always, in the past, the most dangerous part of any heist was at the end. "It's a lot trickier pulling out than slipping in" was Dale Carpenter's axiom. Wright had found that to be abundantly true. Usually with good reason. This time turned out to be no exception.

Fifty yards to go and he could make out Blair clearly now in the cockpit of the Blackhawk, monitoring the action. The attack ship's door gunner, covering their retreat, fired on anything moving that was not human. Suddenly the man opened up full blast, aiming immediately past the fast moving resistance fighters. Their sprint towards safety was halted briefly as more Terminators and H-K's appeared without notice. Two was pinned down under withering fire. Marcus needed both hands free and was forced to allow the man he'd been aiding to slip to the ground. He concentrated on the enemy above their heads, while those with the decreasing supply of RPG's looked to eliminating the Terminators. Skynet was a sore loser, but they already knew that.

Please Blair, Marcus begged in his mind, stay there. Don't try to come and get me. His hope was that she would be more protected by the armor plating of the gunship. With the workman like efficiency borne of experience, the AI's final gasp was slowly dispatched, albeit not without more human casualties. As their automated foes were done away with, team two began again to inch their way towards their ride home.

Bill Soames was first and started hauling the wounded aboard, prodigious strength allowing him to do so quickly. Jake Peterson and most of the remaining group was not far behind, with Marcus and his leg shot comrade bringing up the rear. Peterson hopped up and inside, soon joined by the rest.

That left only Marcus and Mike Evans, the injured man he was assisting. Screw it, Marcus thought, and slung the man over his shoulder. Evans wounds were severe enough, he made no sound in protest.

"Come on, Marcus! Let's go! Go, go, go, go! Come on!" Billy urged. What he saw appear behind Marcus lent urgency to his shouts. A T-800, massive mini-guns in hand, aiming directly for Marcus's unprotected back.

Fire from inside the 'copter slowed but did not stop the Terminator's advance.

"Colonel!" Soames shouted, "take that thing out!"

Jacob Peterson glared at his subordinate giving him orders. Readying one of the last remaining RPG's he raised the tube to fire. Then, a cruel slant to his mouth, he lowered the weapon.

"What are you doing? Fire! Kill it!" Billy yelled. He remembered his pre-mission conversation with Marcus. In a flash of horrified realization he realized this was Peterson's opportunity to kill Marcus and the man was taking it!

Marcus half twisted, saw the 8 and knew he was about to lose the race. He pulled Evans off his shoulder, cradled the now unconscious man in his arms and with a tremendous surge of effort, _threw _Evans the last ten feet. Startled team two members cleared the doorway, landing atop one another in a tangle of arms and legs as Wright's special delivery arrived. Medics dragged their patient back out of the fire zone and began treating his wounds.

Diving forward, Bill Soames grabbed for the RPG. Animal like snarls issued from Peterson as he tried to keep hold, but Soames elbowed his commander in the face savagely and wrenched the launcher from Jake's hands. Balancing on one knee, Marcus's erstwhile foster brother took aim at the T-800.

Billy and the Terminator fired at the same time, creating a cloud of death.

Jake Peterson broke free from the restraining hands and threw himself at Billy.

"Let that abomination die!" the Colonel screamed, clawing Soames mindlessly.

"Get him off of me!" Bill yelled.

Other hands grabbed Peterson, dragging him back and away from the lieutenant. Peterson, nearly incoherent, demanded to be freed, but Soames was not the only witness to Peterson's attempted murder by T-800. Any ambivalence over Marcus Wright's human or non status some of them might have could wait for another time. Right now, he was one of their fellow soldiers. They held on to Peterson tightly, eyeing him with anger and disgust.

Billy lost visual of Marcus thru the swirling smoke, flame and heat. He could not tell where Marcus was or if he lived. Behind him, Peterson spewed venom until someone grabbed a roll of bandages from the medics and fashioned a gag.

Soames threw down the useless launcher and was about to abandon the chopper to go aid Marcus, but before he could, Blair Williams devastated reaction told him what he needed to know.

**"MARCUS!" **Blair yelled. Ten feet from the helicopter's entrance, Marcus Wright laid sprawled, face down and unmoving.

**Author's note: You know the drill. Constructive reviews are welcome. Flames need not apply. See ya next chapter. Thanks.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Now we know how Marcus acquired some of his skill**s, **at least according to me, but since it's my story, well you know. Just to keep it legal, I have no claim or ownership to the Terminator franchise, movies or characters. Original characters are mine. **

The Human Condition-Chapter 6

Express Yourself!

**Year 1993**

Marcus ground his teeth together! He'd was beginning to think they'd never shut up! After making the border crossing courtesy of the Aguilar brothers, he took care of business for Blood Dog and checked in, letting his biker boss know he'd done his job. Now he was back to where he'd left Pepe, Jose, and their unlucky captive, Manny Serrano. For a couple of cold blooded killers, he fumed, these two gossiped worse than old ladies! It would have been different if they'd been discussing something he could use against them later, he grumbled from his hot, cramped hiding place. But no, these fools just rambled on about nothing. He assumed Osvaldo had been contacted, but he had no way of knowing for sure. Yak, yak, yak, yak, yak, yak, yak, yak, yak! Uuuuuugggghhhh! They were driving him crazy! Marcus was right on the verge of emerging from his uncomfortable cubbyhole and shooting the both of them just to stop the inane babble when Pepe's phone rang. Saved by the bell!

He could only hear Pepe's end of the conversation, but whatever it was about got Aguilar number one hot and bothered in a big hurry. Waving his free hand in the air and cursing loudly, Pepe Aguilar rushed out, clearly intending to visit grief on whoever was on the other end of the phone, followed by a confused Jose. Their knuckle dragging spear carriers weren't around, or at least Marcus hadn't seen them. Maybe they were off taking care of whatever company business Pepe and Jose were stupid enough to trust them with. He didn't know and didn't care. What mattered now is that he was, at last, able to wiggle out from where he'd hidden himself.

After doing an exquisitely careful recon of the area, he relaxed. Nobody here but him. Well, him and Manuel Serrano. Peeking thru the grimy window of the office in the small warehouse, he spied Serrano lying on the floor on his side, hands and feet still trussed like a hog ready for slaughter. His face covered in bruises and crusty dried blood, Manuel's breathing could have sounded better too. Could be busted ribs or maybe something worse, Marcus guessed. He'd had his own share of gross bodily injuries, so he knew the sights and sounds pretty well.

He and Manny Serrano definitely needed to be long gone by the time Pepe and Jose returned. He'd better get a move on. Prepared to pick the lock to the office door, he found it would not be necessary. Twisting the knob, he pushed the door open. He went in, leaving it that way behind him.

Serrano surprised him by weakly cracking one eyelid. Too wracked by pain to lift his head from the floor, Manuel showed he was not completely cowed by his ordeal.

"Fu…F..you! Kill me! Kill me! I won't…b…be…beg you…for…anything!" he croaked thru swollen, bloodied lips.

"Good" Marcus told him, "cause we aint' got time for that." Retrieving one of his knives from its' customary resting place between elbow and wrist, he cut the ropes binding Manny's ankles and wrists, hauling him up roughly to a sitting position.

Serrano's bewilderment showed, as bad a condition as he was in. "Wh…who…who are you?" Manny gasped out. This was a new face.

"Intros later, man. We got to get out of here before Pepe and Jose get back. Can you stand?" Marcus asked, keeping a nervous eye on the warehouse entrance.

"Y…ye…yes" Manny responded, and then, with a big assist from Marcus, proceeded to do so.

Since he wasn't about to lug Manuel Serrano thru the streets of El Paso on his back, Marcus hotwired a car and drove the injured Manny to the _Carlisle Inn_. Wouldn't be safe to take him to a hospital. Pepe and Jose, they had eyes around town. They'd be looking for their escaped prize. They'd be looking for whoever helped their golden punching bag get away too. And since that's me, Marcus thought, it might be a good idea not to get found.

Maneuvering the semi-conscious man up the back stairs of the motel he was staying in and down the hall to his room unseen was kind of tricky, but he managed it.

Dumping Serrano on the spare bed, Marcus told him "I gotta lose the car. Going to pick up some supplies too. Stay here and don't answer the door or use the phone. I'll be back as soon as I can." With that, he disappeared.

An hour later he was back, carrying food, drink, and everything he thought he might need to patch up Serrano's various injuries. He found his patient enduring a restless slumber. At least, he surmised, Manuel seemed to be breathing easier. Not as labored. Maybe the guy didn't have a hole in his lung after all. Hopefully, there was no concussion involved. Marcus got the shirt off, bound up the ribs as tight as possible, shoved some painkillers down the groggy Manny's throat, chased them with a glass of water and let it go at that. Everything else could wait.

He called Sam at school, unwrapped one of the sandwiches he'd picked up, cracked open a beer, tugged off his boots, flopped down on the other bed, stuck a gun under his pillow, and eventually fell asleep with the TV on.

Awakening to the sound of a running shower, Marcus turned his head to find Serrano's bed empty. Steam seeped under the door of the bathroom. If the guy was able to make it to the shower by himself maybe he's not hurt as bad as I thought, Wright concluded. That might be good. He had things to do. It was one thing to stick it to the Aguilar's by snaking their illicit payday out from under their noses, but playing nursemaid for possibly days was way out of the question. He had to get back south of the border, get back to his life and get back to his little brother. If Serrano was alert and mobile, then the man was on his own.

He'd no sooner completed the thought when the water ceased. A couple of minutes later, the door swung open and Manny Serrano, still bearing the marks of the last eighteen hours, stepped out. Serrano moved slowly with a pronounced limp, but washing away the grime and blood had gone a long way towards improving his appearance. Sitting on the side of his bed, Manuel eyed Marcus for a moment.

"Manuel Serrano" he said, introducing himself in near accent-less English, extending a hand.

Hesitating briefly, Marcus shook the other's hand. "Marcus Wright" he returned, not letting on that he'd already figured out who Manny was.

Neither said anything more for a bit. Manuel's curiosity ultimately won out. "Why'd you help me?"

"A while back the Aguilar's killed a friend of mine and his sister. Now, not only do they have your brother to worry about, but they don't get paid either. That works for me." Marcus saw no reason to lie.

He considered Serrano for a moment. "You look like you're doing okay now. I'm going to go. You've got everything over there" he indicated the brown paper bag he'd returned with "that you're going to need to patch yourself up the rest of the way. There's some food in the other bag. If I was you, I'd wait till morning and call your brother. Let him know where you are so he can send some of his people to get you. See ya" he said, opening the door to leave.

"My, my brother?" Manuel Serrano appeared puzzled for a moment. As the repeat use of the words "your brother" registered, understanding dawned. "You know who I am." Manny meant his family connection.

"Yeah, I know who you are" Marcus admitted. "Have a nice life."

"I need your help" Serrano said as Marcus put one foot on the hallway carpeting. Wright turned around.

"My help?" Marcus repeated. "For what? Look, just call your brother in the morning."

"I can't call my brother. I don't want him to know I'm here. He thinks I'm still in Massachusetts. I'd like to keep it that way" Manny told him.

"Why wouldn't you want your-" Marcus started to ask, then stopped himself. "You want to know something? I don't care. Whatever's going on, its' not my business. I have to go."

"Do you know what my brother did?" Serrano was beginning to get worked up. "He killed my cousin, raped his wife, and took my cousin's kids and whored 'em out! Two little kids, man! They're only eight and nine! You know what's happening to them? I've got to get them out of there! Somebody has to get them out! I need your help!"

Marcus turned around. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened to your cousin and his family, but I got my own family to think about. "There is no chance I'm getting in between you and Osvaldo. None, you got that?"

"But you cant-!" Serrano was shouting when Marcus closed the door on him. It was too bad about the kids, it really was, but Sam was still at the school. Marcus would not risk his brother's welfare. For Sam's sake, Manny Serrano's problems could not become his. If he got on a bus now, he could be home and sleeping in his own bed by morning. Headed for El Paso, he'd been looking forward to a steak, a beer, a woman and some sleep. Two out of four. Time to decamp. Good luck with the rescue mission, Manny, he thought, heading for the bus station.

With every step he felt worse. Serrano's pleas refused to leave him alone. An eight and nine year old caught up in Osvaldo Serrano's psychotic vengeance against their dead father. They're not your problem, Marcus. Think about what could happen to Sam if you go against Osvaldo. You gotta think about Sam, he tried repeating over and over like a mantra. Fat lot of good it did. He took his hand off the terminal door and turned away. Walking around the corner of the building he stopped , resting his head against the soot and dirt covered stone. Banging the back of his noggin against the building once, he cursed and started back for the motel. He didn't make it.

"Well, look at what we got here" a gravelly voice remarked in a manner that boded ill for Marcus.

He raised his head to find his way impeded by a pair of lethal looking thugs. Marcus recognized the men. Lucas Hannerly and Sonny Kissell, members of a rival biker gang. One that had ambitions of claiming turf Blood Dog and his brother riders considered theirs. The clubs were currently engaged in a grim tit-for-tat war with bodies dropping around southern Texas and northern Mexico with predictable frequency. Marcus belonged to neither. He was only a sometime courier for Blood Dog, not part of the biking brotherhood. He wore no colors, sported no patch. Somehow he didn't think that would make much difference. He was right.

Producing knives, they backed him into the blackness of the alley until anything that happened would be out of sight from the street. They didn't want a messy kill attracting unwanted attention. Would they be more inclined to make it quick, or would they bleed him first for intel on Blood Dog, D and the others? That was the only real question. There was no time to go for his guns. They'd be on him before he got to a firearm. Still backing away, he readied his own knives, one in either hand, and prepared to make the taking of his life an expensive proposition. It was a good thing, he had just enough time to think, that he'd left standing instructions with an attorney in Mexico City for Val and Carl Soames to be contacted and told of Sam's whereabouts if anything happened to Marcus.

Kissell made the first move, taking a vicious swipe at Marcus's gut. Arching his back, Marcus pulled his stomach out of range, and the swipe missed by barely half an inch. At the same time, Lucas Hannerly was attempting to circle around Marcus, both to come at his victim from behind and cut off the eighteen-year olds' escape route. As he passed, Hannerly lunged for the teen's throat. Desperately Marcus threw his head back. The wicked looking blade missed the mark but left a long painful gash along the side of Marcus's neck. He hissed in pain. First blood went to one of his would be killers. That portended bad things. At least now he knew whether it would be fast or slow. Parrying Kissell's second thrust with his left hand weapon, he kicked out with force, catching Hannerly on a knee, knocking his assailant back. Lucas howled in agony at the damage to his vulnerable knee cap.

Marcus's mind coughed up every lesson in knife fighting that he'd ever endured. Placing his back against a brick wall, he stabbed skillfully at first one and then the other of the two attackers, drawing their blood in turn but surviving several more nasty near misses, the evidence of which he bore in the form of bloody wounds.

The muffled assault had so far taken less than five minutes, but for Marcus, for whom time stretched and slowed, it seemed an eternity. His breath came in shredded gasps, his lungs wheezing with effort. He was winded. Hannerly and Kissell's combined onslaught was having the desired effect. Marcus could feel himself tiring. He knew the two on one knife fight could only have one conclusion but if he was going to die, he intended to do his best to take at least one of his antagonists with him.

Blood loss and sheer physical exertion blended into a deadly one-two punch against his fight for survival. His attention flagged for a split second. Kissell took advantage, slipping inside Marcus's guard to drive home a thrust to the upper chest. Hannerly copied Wright's earlier tactic, only aiming for the back of Marcus's leg.

"**AAAAUUUUHHH!" **Marcus folded and went down, losing one knife in the process. Kissell dived on top of him pinning Marcus to the alley face up. Dropping to his knees, Lucas Hannerly positioned his blade for a killing blow. Unable to fight back with his arms trapped, Wright could only watch as death came for him.

The knife was on its' downward arch for Marcus's heart when Hannerly was struck savagely from behind. Eyes rolling backward in his head, the biker's hand opened and the blade clattered on the concrete of the filthy alley. Collapsing in a heap, Hannerly was out cold.

Sonny Kissell spun around. Before Kissell was able to switch focus from killing Marcus to him, Manuel Serrano swung the heavy lead pipe again, to equally devastating effect.

Weak from injuries and blood loss, Marcus lay still. Serrano, his own recent injuries telling on him reached down and with a struggle, finally got the other young man upright. With Manny partially carrying, partially dragging Marcus down the alley, they headed for the motel.

**Year 2019**

_Pain. It flowed over him like rivers of water, swallowing him, engulfing him. Awareness came back to Marcus in the form of pain. Every centimeter of him hurt. He had never felt this kind of pain before, never hurt like this. Not under Dylan Taylor's brutality, not during the grueling trial that marked his coming of age with the bikers. In none of the many injuries and trauma his body had sustained since that time. Never. He'd only tasted a hint of this particular degree of agony in the death chamber at Longview before the noxious potion pumped into his body rendered him incapable of knowing anything more. This pain was unequalled. He was confused, baffled. Had not Skynet, in constructing his physical being, taken this degree of vulnerability to hurt away from him. Incurring minor hurts, even hurts that would incapacitate a normal human he was certainly capable of. But this debilitating agony should not have been possible. He did not understand. Why was it like this? What had happened? Blair, please! Please tell them for me! Please tell them to make it stop! Please!_

Holding Marcus's cool unresponsive hand, Blair leaned over him to gently kiss him first on the lips and then on the forehead. He looked peaceful, almost as if he were asleep. But he was not asleep, and she knew he was not at peace. The swarm of equipment monitoring his condition told the true story.

According to Kate Connor and her medical team, Marcus was in an incredible amount of pain. In a comatose state he was unable to express it, but he was suffering.

"Skynet put him together Blair" Kate explained after the initial triage. "It knew just where to attack him. It knows where he's most vulnerable. That last T-800 it sent after him, Skynet was very specific with that one."

"That, that's why it shot him in the head and spinal column, isn't it?" Blair whispered, gripping her composure tightly. Falling apart was not among her options, at least not now. Enfolding Star's smaller hand within her own, she waited for Kate's answer.

"It went after his human brain. Likewise with his hybrid nervous system. It knew exactly where and how to hit him and that's what it did."

"Kate, I've, we've all seen him injured, shot, attacked by T-800's or H-K's and he just bounced back. I don't understand why this time is different!" Blair protested. She inhaled sharply, getting herself back under control. Star's fingers tightened. She had to be strong for all of them. For the little girl's sake, and for Marcus.

"We're not really sure why it's different this time, Blair." Kate went on, "not yet. But it is. Marcus, uh, because of the way he is, his body doesn't register pain in the traditional way, the same way any of us would. But his body does have sensors, ways of recognizing sensation that could be categorized as 'pain'. That's what's happening now. His computer is working double-time trying to regulate and help him deal with it, but there's only so much it can handle at one time. And right now it's almost overloaded. If Marcus were truly a 'Terminator' the way we think of the T-6 or 800's, he could just simply shunt the pain off into its' own compartment and forget about it-"

"But he's not, Kate. Skynet left him with his humanity. Enough to be hurt like one if Skynet just had enough chances to do it" Blair finished for the red haired medico.

"Yes" Kate agreed. "Yes, that's it exactly." Kate felt one more barricade fall. If Marcus Wright was human enough to be killed like a man, she was going to have to treat him like one from here on out. If she got the chance. If any of them did.

"Can you save him?" Blair asked plainly. She was too emotionally spent to play word games. She had to hear the truth, now, no matter what.

"I don't know" Kate Connor told her friend honestly. "We're doing all we can, but frankly, I'm not sure how much of it is up to us, and how much of this battle Marcus is going to have to fight on his own. Like I said, that computer Skynet gave him is a marvel. I know that wasn't its' exact intended purpose, but Marcus's neural-net just might be what pulls him thru. That and his just plain stubborn human will to live. We can try to help him, we're looking for ways now to give his computer a boost, the extra push it may need to help him heal, but mainly, I think it's going to be up to him. He's a fighter, Blair. You know that better than anyone. He's literally lived several lives. Somewhere inside him there's a consummate survivor. If he makes it thru this, that Marcus will be a big part of the reason why. I have to go talk with the techs. You two" she touched Blair on the arm but included Star with a look at the girl, "need to get some food and rest. It won't help Marcus for you to collapse. Either of you." Kate left to go in search of Donnelly and Lawler.

"Connor, why isn't Soames being punished for striking a superior officer!" Jacob Peterson demanded angrily. "He should be stripped of his rank and thrown into the stockade! He assaulted his commanding officer!" Peterson's florid face was alive with outrage.

"You tried to kill Marcus, you-" Billy Soames furious rebuttal was cut off by John Connor.

"That will be enough, lieutenant!" Connor barked. He addressed Jake Peterson. "As for you, Colonel Peterson, your conduct during the action is highly suspect at best! Lt. Soames isn't the only one to describe your behavior as nothing less than a murder attempt! If Soames hadn't intervened, Marcus Wright would be dead now. As it is, he fighting for his life, thanks to you! You have great deal to explain, Colonel!"

Connor was quietly enraged. He'd known, as did everyone else, of Peterson's loathing and hatred of Marcus. What none of them had comprehended was the depth of that hatred. The war against the machines had changed everyone. Shaped and fired them in the crucible of nuclear destruction and its' aftermath into different creatures. He himself bore Skynet an unrelenting enmity, both for his own personal reasons, and on behalf of the rest of humanity, both living and dead. But Peterson's dogged unwillingness to see Marcus Wright as anything less than a machine to be put down was deeply unsettling.

"My actions" Peterson defended himself vehemently, "were entirely correct! I didn't fire on that 800 because there was too much chance of me hitting Evans and Wright. I didn't have a clear shot from my angle. I could have killed both of 'em if I'd tried to take out that 800!"

"That's a lie and you know it!" Bill interrupted. "You could have taken the terminator out well before it opened fire on Marcus!"

Tense and stiff, Kyle Reese sat clenching and unclenching his fists, watching the proceedings. Cool under fire, he longed to rip Jake Peterson to pieces. This man had tried to use Skynet to murder his friend. He wouldn't get away with it. Not if Kyle had anything to say about it.

Soames could not get the image of Marcus supine and motionless on the tarmac of the Skynet compound out of his head. Leaping out and dragging Wright aboard with the help of others, they'd flown back to the resistance base with as much speed as Blair could coax out of the bird. Neither could Billy forget the sickening look of gratification on Colonel Jacob Peterson's face when the extent of Marcus's injuries was revealed. Bill Soames had wanted to smash that look from his former CO's face, wanted to beat Peterson's contented smirk into red mush. Instead, he went to sit beside Marcus for the balance of the return flight.

"I said that will do, Lt. Soames!" John snapped. "You've given your account. If you can't control yourself, then leave! Now! Don't make me tell you again!" Connor warned.

He knew Peterson was lying. He knew the man had tried to use the cover of battle to kill Marcus. But knowing and proving, especially in this case were two entirely different things. And he needed proof. His estimation of Marcus's humanity and value to the resistance carried the lion's share of weight, but unfortunately, his was not the only opinion to be considered. There were many, too many, who viewed Wright as Peterson did. Punishing Peterson without irrefutable evidence of the man's culpability would engender an entirely new set of problems that John did not need. The catch was, he knew, as of now, no way to obtain that proof, short of an admission by Jacob Peterson. Although he did not relish the prospect, Connor knew it might come down him proving once and for all that he was not a paper tiger, that he was much more than just the face of the resistance. That would not be a problem for him. Sarah Connor had prepared him for that moment from before his birth. He was ready. And it was about time.

**Year 1993**

Marcus caught the hand probing his wounded shoulder, eyes snapping open. He tried to roll away defensively, fingers instinctively seeking a weapon with which to protect himself, but found nothing.

"_Facil, _easy_"_ the lovely young woman whose wrist he held imprisoned in his grasp told him soothingly. "_Soy medico, _I am a doctor, Dr. Mendez." She sought to reassure him. Her startled posture indicated she was no threat.

"She is, and you should listen to her. You shouldn't be trying to move around too much. They stuck you pretty good." Manuel Serrano came into the room, fresh towels in hand. He laid the towels on the bed within the doctor's reach, revealing one of Marcus's guns in his right hand.

"Looking for this? Thought I should be ready, just in case. I think I got us back here without anyone seeing, but I couldn't be sure, so… How's he doing?" Serrano asked the woman treating Marcus.

Instead of answering Serrano, the doctor addressed her patient directly. "You've lost a fair amount of blood, but fortunately, that appears to be the most serious problem you have at the moment. Most of the wounds are shallow. The shoulder was the chief concern. I've cleaned and sutured your wounds. You should try to remain still, and make sure you rehydrate. And keep the dressings changed. I've left antibiotics. Make sure you use them as indicated, _Si?" _She waited for Marcus's acknowledgment.

"_Excelente_" Mendez nodded, satisfied her instructions had been absorbed. She stood, gathering the tools of her profession and preparing to leave. Manny walked her to the door, their informal attitude towards one another suggesting a prior intimacy. They spoke softly, too soft for Marcus to overhear, and then Dr. Mendez opened the door.

"_Gracias_" Marcus called to her from the bed. "Thanks. For the medicine too."

"_Su nada" _it's nothing,she answered, "_es mi trabajo, _it's my job_."_ She and Serrano shared a quick kiss._"Te amo"_ Maria told Manny quietly, and then she was gone.

Manuel closed the door behind the woman to find Marcus studying him questioningly.

"Maria and I have a…history" he supplied by way of answering the unspoken query. " She's a resident at St. Augustine. Don't worry. We can trust her to keep quiet. She won't tell anyone anything" Manny said.

"You followed me." Marcus's depleted state caused him to state the obvious.

"I thought maybe I could give it one more try. I still needed your help. Still need your help" Serrano corrected to the present tense. "By the time I caught up with you…" There was no need to go on.

Wright was silent, considering. "We're both too beat up right now to go trying to save anybody from anything. We're going to do this, we gotta do it right. We gotta think it all the way thru. Plan it out."

"Does that mean-?" Manuel began.

"I'll help you get your cousin's kids" Marcus told the man who'd saved his life. "But we do it my way. And there's something else we have to do first" he finished, thinking of his brother. It didn't look like Sam was going to get to finish his schooling either.

**Year 2019**

_Their eyes. Even after all this time, it was the eyes that stayed with him. No matter how many years accumulated in the rear view of memory, Marcus still remembered their eyes. _

_Manny Serrano's cousins eyes had been crowded with unutterable horrors, liquid pools of pain and confusion, desperate to block out the atrocities visited upon their young minds and bodies. Daringly freed by Marcus and Manny, their eyes were reservoirs of experienced cruelties that a lifetime of forgetting could never undo. The children could be, and were, hidden from the vengeful Osvaldo Serrano by smuggling them into the U.S and as far away from Mexico as possible, but their eyes would always betray the depth of their lost innocence. _

_There were others, too. So many. The terrified eyes of those trapped at the end of one of his guns during a robbery. Innocent victims whose mundane world was violently disrupted because of the innocuous decision to physically go into the bank. Their eyes begged the question, yet revealed the fear of the answer. Would they never see those they loved again because they'd preferred genuine human contact to the impersonal ministrations of an ATM?_

_There were the eyes of those who witnessed his execution at Longview. Oddly, those eyes seemed more lifeless than his, yet he was the one they would soon see bereft of life. Devoid of emotion, those eyes held the doll-like coldness of sharks. Other eyes stared at him thru the glass, filled with the knowledge that he would momentarily pay for the anguish he'd caused. Ken Campbell's widow, Paul Bundy's daughter. He'd refused to speak, knowing any statement would mean nothing to them. Words would never erase the dull misery of irreplaceable loss hiding behind the hatred of him in their eyes. _

_His mother's eyes had carried a shame she did not warrant for a life she'd tried in vain to escape. _

_Carl and Val Soames and their son, Billy. Those eyes had always held love, support, and in the end, that which he craved most and deserved least, forgiveness. _

_Blair Williams, Star and Kyle Reese. In those eyes, especially Blair's, he saw the sanctuary of unconditional acceptance and another chance for family. _

_But of all the eyes that haunted him down thru the years, of all the eyes that refused to grant him absolution and farewell, the ones that he could not and did not wish to ever forget were those of his brother, Sam. _

_Sam's eyes, so similar to his own, were the windows to Marcus's soul. The first time Marcus had stared into those eyes was the day Sam came home as an infant in Norah's arms. The last was the day Sam died in the blood and chaos of the shootout. Even then, even as he lay dying on the floor an arm's length away, Sam's eyes looked at his brother with trust and love. His heart slowing as death crept thru his system Marcus Wright's very final thought had been of that look. _

_He still did not fathom how he'd been granted a second, or perhaps, depending on perspective, a third or fourth chance at what he could only classify as life. But he did know this. He would not squander it. The night of his first day of wandering Skynet's hell with the fire out canvas, as he sat staring into the hastily concocted fire, with Blair in his arms, he'd made a promise. A promise to the two Texas Rangers who'd lost their lives that day, but mostly, he'd made it to Sam. He could not give them back their lives, but their sacrifice would not be in vain. He would be a better man. He would make this chance count. Value other lives as he valued his own. He quailed when he thought of the time he'd come close to breaking that promise before he'd even made it. How easy his decision to kill the thugs menacing Blair had been. Her shooting his first intended target had saved the man's life, such as it was. Marcus never wanted to come that near to breaking his word again. He knew Sam was watching._

_Without warning it was Sam's voice that flared within the prison of Marcus's mind. __**"Danger, Marcus! **__**WAKE UP!"**_

**Year 1993**

To almost anybody else, getting the children of a murdered man out of a child prostitution ring would be a heroic deed. To Osvaldo Serrano, the man responsible for selling the kids to the ring in the first place, rescuing them constituted an insult. The _ADB_ boss was not a man to suffer insults from anyone, his own brother included. Finding out his cousin's children had been snatched from the hell to which he'd sentence them Osvaldo flew into a violent rage, in this case, killing the messenger. No great loss, since the bearer of Serrano's bad news had also been one of the persons pandering the children. Maybe a few young victims would sleep a little easier now.

Osvaldo took the rescues as a personal injury nonetheless. A public humiliation. Their father had betrayed him, daring to believe his stealing would escape Osvaldo's scrutiny. Serrano had lashed out like an angry viper, striking down the entire family as an example against anyone else ever being suicidal enough to so much as contemplate double crossing him. His cousin, his cousin's wife, the children must all be made to pay, and must all be seen to pay.

Now the brats had been freed, and worse, taken far enough away so that even his most diligent efforts had been unable to uncover their whereabouts. Compounding his frustration was finding out that one of the men responsible for this smear to his dignity was his own brother, Manuel. Before this, Osvaldo had always bragged on Manuel, boasting to everyone of his younger sibling's intelligence and abilities. The millions generated by Serrano's drug business were more than adequate to finance Manuel's education in the finest schools. His brother's intention in sending Manny to M.I.T. was, ultimately to bring the younger Serrano into the business, using his acumen with computers and electronics to help skirt the increasingly sophisticated methods being employed on both sides of the border to interdict the flow of narcotics. Discovering Manuel's duplicity was like a knife in his heart, only seeping out of the wound was not blood, but a putrid desire to make Manuel pay for defying him.

And the other one, this Marcus Wright, whose name Osvaldo had not bothered to know until now, he must also pay. Osvaldo would see him suffer in every way that could be imagined, along with anyone that he cared about. He would see everyone and everything this Marcus touched completely destroyed.

Osvaldo knew his desired result was possible. The obscene amounts of cash his enterprises brought to him allowed for a great many possibilities. Anything he desired was at his fingertips. Enough money could assuage any grievance. His imagination conjured pictures of the bloody, shredded bodies of his brother and Marcus Wright. Five hundred thousand American dollars for each. That was the price fixed as reward for their heads delivered into his hands . He would not rest until they were both dead and the damage to his reputation repaired. _Debe ser._

**Year 1998**

Firing as he did so, Marcus dived for the shelter of the heavy dumpster, scattering garbage and rats in equal amounts. He winced in pain, seeing stars as his head fetched hard against the steel container. Shouts and cursing in Spanish indicated at least some of his shots hit their mark. That was a beautiful thing but it still left him outnumbered by about three to one. Wright could hear his pursuers marshalling their nerve for another rush. Even if he scored another hit, the odds that they would be on him before he could get the rest were unpleasantly high.

It was his own fault, he reasoned. This is what happens when you let your guard down. Aren't you the one always lecturing Sam and the other guys in the crew about staying on their game, not getting sloppy? Yep, that's you alright, Marcus. And yet here you are, about to have your fat head lightened by a few million brains cells. Might as well get rid of them, he chided with black humor. It's not like you're using them for anything.

At the exact instant the men chasing him made their move, Marcus felt a hand seize the scruff of his jacket and shirt and drag him around the corner of the building. Keep a grip on the gun in his hand he thrust back with his elbow, aiming for his attacker's solar plexus and threw his head back, head butting his opponent hard in the face.

"Ahh! Marcus, stop man! It's me! Ah! I think you broke my nose!" Alex Cordell's angry baritone protested. "If I knew you was going do this, woulda left you here on your own! Ow! Ah!"

"Alex!" Marcus wheeled. Alex was bent over slightly, mopping the red flood pouring from his offended beak, while keeping one eye on the entrance to the side alley. The big Haitian's dark gaze grew wide and he pushed Marcus back, bringing up the double barreled recoilless. Shooting past Marcus, his target went down in a spray of blood and bone. Marcus pivoted and fired in concert, taking out a second man. The third, suddenly finding the tables turned, opted for flight instead of fight, trying to reach the safety of a waiting vehicle, but it was not to be. Wright lined up the fleeing man and shot, watching expressionlessly as the body landed in a pile of trash and rotting food. The more enemies he eliminated today, the fewer there would be to come after him later. It wouldn't hurt to send a message to the hit team's paymaster either. He knew who that was. Even killing had its' practical side.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Alex" Marcus told his friend as the two quickly left the area, "but what are you doing here? You know the protocol after a job. We stay away from each other, let the heat die down."

"You welcome" Cordell snarled acidly. "I came to give you a message from Mama Loa. She say you in danger, that people coming to kill you tonight. I thought you might be going to see the old man so I look for you there first. I see you come out, then I see them following you. Shoulda let them finish you!" Alex snapped.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry!" Marcus apologized. Keeping one eye on the road and one hand on the wheel, he reached over the back of his seat and felt around until his fingers touched the first aid kit he always kept close by.

He tossed it into Alex's lap. "Probably some gauze in there. Looks like it already stopped bleeding though. Really, sorry" he apologized again.

"Don't know why I bothered. It's not like you worth it" Cordell said crossly, frowning at Wright.

"You did it because we share the deep bond of men who've been thru fire together. I'm your leader. You love me" Marcus answered, without so much as a hint of a smile.

Alex cursed loudly. Leaning across, he opened the driver's door and shoved Marcus out of the moving pickup.

Hitting the hard packed dirt road with bone jarring force, breath wooshed out of Marcus and he lay stunned riding out the pain.

Alex Cordell wrestled the truck to a stop and jumped out, running back to where Wright was. By the time he got there, he could see Marcus sprawled on his back, helpless with laughter.

He shook his head. "You a crazy man, Marcus."

"Its' part of my charm" Marcus grinned wickedly.

Alex let loose with a deep belly laugh. "Get up fool."

Limping to the truck, Marcus patched up his scrapes and scratches, and the pair of bank robbers drove off.

"Your brother is very annoying" Marcus complained to Manny Serrano a few weeks later as the crew gathered to plan the assault on their next target. "I had to dodge more of his bounty hunters not too long ago. Its' almost getting predictable."

"Osvaldo wants us dead, _mi amigo. _He's not going to go away" Manny shrugged. "We've been living with it this long."

"If you want my opinion, you should get on down Mexico way and kill old Osvaldo. That'd put an end to the whole mess" Nelson Lee drawled, not looking up from his gun cleaning chores. A defrocked NASCAR driver, Nelson liked things fast. Osvaldo Serrano's never-ending pursuit of Manny and Marcus made no sense to him.

"Ah, but no one asked your opinion, now did they?" Sean Linney returned, a light Irish brogue discernable. The son of a retired Provo bomb maker, Sean was the gang's explosives expert.

Nelson colored. He and Sean were like oil and water, clashing often. Plus, Nelson always seemed to be a little on edge these days. Marcus was working on figuring out why. One of his crew not acting like their normal self made _him _jumpy.

Lee had a comeback ready, but it was never delivered.

"Don't Nelson. Enough." Marcus short circuited the impending argument. He sighed. Sometimes it was like keeping the peace in a kindergarten class with those two. Not that he hadn't entertained Nelson's suggestion in his head once or twice. Fortunately, common sense would always kick in before he could do anything stupid, like trying to slip back into Mexico and go for Osvaldo. Looking at it in the daylight, he knew he'd never get close enough to take the dope kingpin out. But it was a nice fantasy.

"Hey big brother" Sam greeted, entering thru a side door. Alex Cordell followed on his heels.

Five minutes later, Les Chang arrived.

"Time to get to work" Marcus gathered his crew around. They wouldn't be going after a bank this time, but an armored car. Good. Variety kept the work interesting.

**Year 2019**

"Dr. Connor."

Kate jumped. She hadn't realized anyone else was there. She had her head in the latest readouts, trying to figure out how what she was looking at could help save Marcus's life.

"Colonel Peterson." Kate recovered. What was Jake Peterson doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be confined to quarters? Her head struggled to shift gears.

Kate was a woman on a mission. Partly because he meant so much to Blair Williams and partly to prove something intangible to herself, she'd taken Marcus Wright's treatment and recovery as her own personal task. Together with Lawler and Donnelly, she needed to find a way to mesh her patient's organic and Skynet originated bodies to treat the whole man. They were close. She was sure of it.

"Doctor, I think it's time you and I had a talk" Peterson said in low, hushed speech.

Maybe it was the darkling undertone in his voice and maybe the manic light in his brown eyes, but something about the way the Colonel was acting set her alarm bells ringing. "Careful with this one Katie, real careful" Kate could practically hear Lt. General Robert Brewster whispering in her ear. A brilliant man, and despite their frequent and lengthy separations, in Kate's estimation the best of fathers, Robert Brewster had been an excellent reader of people and situations. His most glaring failure in that arena had also been his most catastrophic. Skynet.

"What can I do for you, Colonel?" Kate asked levelly. Years of being by John's side and the discipline of having to calmly deliver often terrible news to the families of her patients came rushing to her aid.

"Look doc" Peterson said conspiratorially, rudely invading her personal space. Kate resisted drawing back. "I saw earlier, when the mission was being planned. I was listening too. You don't like that thing in there anymore than I do." Jake nodded towards the medical bay where Marcus lay unconscious. "I know you love your husband. I knew you're his number one backer. I admire John Connor, always have. He's a great man and great leader. But he ain't seeing clear right now. Not like you and me. We know that machine" he inclined his head in Wright's direction again, "it's gotta be destroyed. While we can, while we have the chance. Like now, Dr. Connor. There's never gonna be a better chance than right now."

Kate's blood turned to ice. Outwardly, she showed no sign. Poker faced, she prompted Peterson. "What do you mean?"

"Doc, what if I was to tell you that I could fix it so Skynet's pet project never woke up? That I could arrange things so it's never a threat to General Connor or anyone else ever again?" The Arizona resistance Colonel made his words sound like a done deal, as if Marcus's death had already been accomplished.

With the angel of her father's wisdom still sitting on her shoulder, Kate Connor asked "And you would be able to do that how?" A small part of the redheaded doctor began to fear for her own safety. She'd warned John the man was bound make another attempt to do harm to Marcus, but now Peterson was actively recruiting her in an effort to finish what he'd started during the raid. If the Colonel was willing to go this far to accomplish his purpose, he also might not have a problem eliminating anyone or anything he perceived to be an obstacle, including her. She and Peterson were alone in the medical tent. If the man decided to harm her, help would not arrive soon enough to keep him from it. Kate strangled her fears. She was Robert Brewster's daughter and John Connor's wife and warrior enough in her own right.

"Easy, Katie" Lt. General Brewster's voice sang in her mind. "Give him plenty of line. Just let it play out." She kept cool, waiting on Jake's answer.

"Vince Lawler" Peterson told her. "He's one of mine. He'll follow _my _orders. He'll do whatever I tell him to do. I already had a talk with him. Before Co-" The colonel corrected, "before General Connor and myself, um, spoke. Lawler knows what to do, and he has the skills to do it. Corporal Lawler's got more about computer programming and how to use it to kill Skynet's machines in his head than anyone else under my command. He got his knowhow from some Mexican bank robber named Serrano hid out in the foothills in Arizona. Can you believe that? With your help, we can turn that monster in there into scrap metal and make it all look like a medical tragedy. Nobody but us three will ever know any different. How about it, doctor? I bet you'd sleep a lot easier at night knowing you'd never have to worry about 'Marcus Wright' showing his true colors and coming after your man again?"

From a deep well of strength Kate had been drawing on since Judgment Day came her reply. "I'll help you, Colonel. But we have to take great care and do this right. John must never know. Never." Kate lowered her voice to a whisper. "You supposed to be in your quarters. You should return to them before you're seen by too many of the wrong people. Corporal Lawler and I can handle the rest. Go, now. Hurry. I'll get with Lawler and get word to you when it's done."

Peterson smiled and Kate's heart dropped to her stomach. "Things are already in motion, doc. Vince is just gonna need a little help with the cleanup, that's all." Jake left.

Kate wanted to throw up, but there was no time. The second Peterson was gone, she was moving. Throwing back the flap to her office, she grabbed a young soldier standing guard outside the tent.

"Get General Connor or Major Barnes! Tell them to come to the medical tent now! And tell General Connor that I said Jacob Peterson should be placed under arrest and under guard! Go! Now!"

The boy, a teenager only slightly younger than Kyle Reese fled at the urgency in her voice. Kate dashed back inside, running down the makeshift hallway to where Marcus Wright lay helpless and alone. Blair Williams and little Star had taken her advice and were in their quarters, resting. Reaching Marcus's isolated bed Kate gasped horrified to see Vince Lawler bending over Marcus making some sort of adjustment to the area where Marcus's neural-net computer was housed. Was she too late?

**Author's note: Only one more chapter to go and then it's a wrap. I don't speak Spanish, so I had to fake that. If some of it is wrong, that's why. Reviews, please. Let me know what you think. Be constructive, please. Thanks. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Finally the last chapter. The finish line is sight. As before, I have no claim to any of the Terminator franchise characters or anything to do with any of the movies. Original characters are mine. On with the finale!**

The Human Condition

Chapter 7- Love, Hate, Love

**Year 2003**

The tap-tap of the clunky black heels supporting Dr. Serena Kogan's fragile form faded with distance as she left the cell block. The dying scientist had scooped up the prized release form, gathering it in a flash as if she feared the condemned man changing his mind. Her face, pale from the trials of chemotherapy, bore an unaccustomed flush from the knowledge that there were witnesses to her shaming.

Marcus Wright's extorted kiss, the price of his signature upon the paper she clutched so tightly to her thin chest. It was not the kiss itself which stabbed at her fragile mental peace, but his words afterwards.

"So that's what death tastes like, like, like…." His callous utterance rang off the institutional walls, leaving her psyche in tatters. Serena could not quit the scene of her disgrace quickly enough.

Shackled hand and foot, Marcus did not note her passing. He had no more mind for her. Their business was done. His appointment in Samarra less than one hour away now, Marcus had many other moments in his life which warranted a final visitation.

Nelson Lee, who with his dying breath had broken faith those he mistakenly believed to have broken faith with him. Ray Winston, the Ranger in charge of bringing Marcus and his crew in, had boasted of Nelson's betrayal to Marcus, gloating over the weakened, bandaged man handcuffed to the hospital bed.

"He thought you sold him out on the Diamond Exchange, you know. And we let him, encouraged him even. And it worked perfect too. We played Nelson just right. He gave up your little hideaway. Told us right where to find you. Only disappointment was we only got you and Linney and that brother of yours. But I'll get the rest, Cordell and Chang and Serrano. But you Wright" Winston said as he put his hand over Marcus's mouth to muffle the screams as he leaned on the wound in Marcus's side , "I'll see you get that hot shot, for what you did to Ken and Paul, for their wives and kids. I promise you."

But he hadn't, Marcus knew. He hadn't sold Nelson out, neither had Sam. And Sean had given his word to Marcus that it was not he that tipped the cops to Nelson's plans for the diamond heist. The robbery that Lee had tried so hard to talk Marcus into, only to come up every single time against Marcus's argument that it felt too much like a trap. And I was right, Marcus thought. Nelson why didn't you listen to me? It wasn't me, Nelson. I never gave you to the cops. Why didn't you come out and admit the cops were squeezing you? We could have figured something out, a way to use it against them. Why'd I have to find out some other way that you were stabbing us in the back? Words Marcus would never say to his former comrade.

There was the small comfort of knowing that Osvaldo Serrano preceded him in death. The _ADB_ cartel leader's failure to see the contracts he'd placed on Marcus's head and that of his own brother Manuel Serrano fulfilled after five long years marked Osvaldo as vulnerable to one of his more ambitious lieutenants. Soon after, the _Asesinos de Bebes_ had themselves an "organizational restructuring." No more Osvaldo, no more contract. Manny wouldn't have that worry any longer.

He thought of yesterday, the gift that he'd never expected to receive in his last hours. "Inmate Wright, you got company. Extend your hands." Marcus had dutifully allowed himself to be cuffed and shackled and escorted to visiting. He had no idea of who would be coming to see him. Certainly it was not his team of attorneys, or rather his former attorneys. Their insistence on waging a futile battle to spare a life he no longer cared to cling to roused him from lethargy. He fired them, told them their services were no longer needed. He even refused their visits. They'd stopped coming, not stopped fighting to save his life, just stopped trying to convince him to let them try. So who could it be? When he saw, only the heavy restraints binding his hands and feet prevented him from flight. Why? Why this? Why now?

Carl and Valerie Soames waited on the other side of the visiting room glass, looking both glad and saddened to see him. Carl Soames had called in every favor ever owed him by anyone in the state of Texas to make this visit happen. Twelve years of separation had taken a toll, but Marcus still recognized the kindness in their eyes. He picked up the phone on his side, but sat silent, unable to speak, unsure of what to say. Finally his heart spoke for him.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know how disappointed you must be. I'm sorry I let you down. It's alright if you hate me. I get it." Marcus blurted the words in a choked whisper.

Val started to cry. She turned away briefly, one hand over her mouth. Carl put a hand to the glass, indicating for Marcus to do the same.

"We don't hate you Marcus" Carl answered. "We could never hate you. I've never lied to you, and I won't start now, so I can't sit here and say I understand or approve of some of the things you've done, but I could never , we could never hate you. I love you, son. That's never going to change."

"It's why we came, Marcus" Val put in. "We wanted…" she stopped, regaining control. "We wanted you to know that. We wanted you to know that there's somebody who'll miss you and remember you with love."

He didn't deserve them. He never had. "I love you too" Marcus told them, finally admitting it after so many years of holding it in. "I'm sorry I wasn't better at showing it."

"Folks" a guard interrupted, I'm sorry, but time's up. Warden said three minutes"

Carl ignored the man for the moment. "Marcus, if you want, we'll be there when…" Soames couldn't go on, didn't want to.

"Someone should be there for you, Marcus" Val added.

"No, please don't" Marcus told them. "That's not how I want you to remember me. That's not the last picture I want you to have of me in your heads. I love you" he said again. The guard began to tug him away.

"Mr. and Mrs. Soames, I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to insist" the other guard said, this time a bit more firmly. "The warden was emphatic."

As he was being taken out of the visiting room, Marcus tried to watch until he couldn't see them any longer.

He thought of other things, too. He thought of Billy J., who instead of trying for the major leagues as his dad once said he should, joined the Army after 9/11 and was now in Afghanistan. Stay alive, Billy. Your parents are going to need you more than ever now.

He thought about Alex, and Les and Manny. Get low and stay low, he pleaded to his absent friends. Don't end your days in this place.

"It's time, Marcus" Warden McKenzie cut into his musings.

Walking the few feet to the execution chamber, and as the plungers fell on the lethal concoction being fed into him, Marcus looked ahead to the coming reunion with Sam. I'm on my way little brother. See you soon.

**Year 2019**

"Get away from him!" Kate yelled charging like an NFL linebacker. Imitating what she'd seen John do on occasion, she lowered her shoulder and plowed into Vince Lawler, knocking him sideways into a metal cart laden with monitoring equipment and instruments, fortunately, none of it connected to Marcus. Vince landed in an ungainly heap, pulling the cart over on top of him in a fruitless attempt to keep his balance.

"What...what? Dr. Connor! What are you doing? Look I'm just trying to help him! I know what to do! How to fix the problem! I figured out a way-!"

Kate cut off Lawler's agitated explanations. "I know exactly what you were doing, Corporal Lawler! You were trying to finish what Colonel Peterson began! He told me about his 'orders'! How you and he cooked up the perfect way to kill Marcus and make it look like one more tragic death from combat injuries!"

Lawler gained his footing again, shaking his head in denial. "No, no! I mean, yeah the Colonel, he did tell me to do something to Wright, but, I, I wouldn't, I wouldn't do something like that! I only pretended to go along! I was gonna report it! I was, I swear! I would have never murdered Marcus! I swear!" Panting heavily, Vince continued. "Look, you gotta let me finish this! I know what to do! I know how to fix what's wrong! I know how we can get around Skynet's firewalls and get Marcus's organic brain and computer to work together to help heal him and wake him up! You gotta let me finish this!"

With that, he maneuvered to go around Kate, a metal probe of some sort in his extended right hand. She did her best to block him, knowing she was the only thing standing between Marcus Wright and someone given orders to kill him. She wrestled with Lawler, who was so focused on his task that he barely realized she was in his way.

"Help!" Kate screamed as loud as she could. "Someone help! Help!" Making a grab for the hand with the probe, she missed. Looking around for a weapon, Kate spied one of the metal pans utilized during surgery to deposit used instruments. She swung for Lawler's head, but he somehow sensed the blow coming and ducked, the pan just grazing his ear.

"Doc! What are you doing? Stop! I'm trying to help him!" Vince yelled, dodging another swing.

The commotion brought a number of people running. First on the scene happened to be Blair Williams, refreshed after several hours of badly needed sleep. Hearing Kate Connor yelling for help, she pulled her gun, entering the tent prepared to face who knew what.

What she saw was Kate, armed with what looked like a steel pan, swinging at the computer guy Vince Lawler. Lawler was alternately ducking and trying to go around Kate while saying something unintelligible.

""Stop!" Blair yelled, taking dead aim at Lawler.

The huge handgun pointed in his direction got Vince's attention right away. He froze, looking down the barrel of the weapon. He'd heard Williams was an excellent marksman, uh, woman, whatever.

John Connor rushed in seconds behind Blair, with Barnes and Kyle Reese on his heels. A few of Kate's fellow medics, coming from attending other patients got there about the same time.

Connor shot across the room, pinning Lawler against a metal support beam face first. He twisted the man's arm up behind him, causing Lawler to lose his grip on the metal probe. The tool hit the floor with a _**clang!**_

"Are you alright?" John inquired of his wife urgently. "What's going on here? He hurt you?" Connor meant Lawler.

"No, no, I'm okay" Kate reassured him. "It wasn't me he was after, it was Marcus! He and Peterson, they planned it together. I told you the Colonel might try something. This was it. He sent Lawler in here to kill Marcus!"

Barnes took over from John, keeping the protesting Vince contained.

"Explain" John asked Kate. She did, while the rest listened, including Blair.

By the time Kate was finished, Blair was coldly furious. She walked up to Lawler, her Desert Eagle still in hand. "If you've done anything to hurt him, I'll kill you."

"Williams!" Connor snapped sharply, then in a more moderate tone added "back away, Blair. Let me handle this."

Kyle Reese, probably the only one who could, drew Blair away from Lawler to stand by his side, working the gun from her hand.

"Pl, Please, you have to listen to me!" Lawler insisted. "I wasn't hurting him, I was trying to help him! I know what the Colonel told me to do but I wasn't going to do it! I made him think I would. I was gonna fix it so Marcus's brain and computer could talk to each other. I found a way around Skynet's firewalls. I know it doesn't' sound possible but it is! I remembered something Serrano taught me! You gotta believe me! You gotta let me try this! It might be the only chance he has! Please!"

"John, where's Peterson?" Kate asked.

"Under arrest. He's in a cell. He's not going anywhere" John informed her.

"Serrano?" Billy Soames broke in. "Manuel Serrano?" Soames was incredulous.

Lawler struggled and failed to turn his head. Connor signaled and Barnes decreased the pressure slightly.

"Yeah! He, He got me started with computers and taught me about most everything else electronic or technical that I know. You know him?" Vince asked, surprised.

"Who's Manuel Serrano?" John Connor wanted to know.

"Manny Serrano was one of Marcus's old crew. Tech and computer expert. Guy was a freakin' genius with just about anything. Graduated from M.I.T. top of his class, probably didn't stop there though. The security system he couldn't crack didn't exist. If he's still alive, I'd be willing to bet he's even been inside Skynet at least a couple of times!" Billy exclaimed.

The news was astonishing but figuring out what to do with it was going to have to wait for another time. Right now, Marcus was the priority.

"That's what I been trying to get you to understand!" Lawler said. Barnes spun him around so his back was against the beam. "I remembered something Manny told me, about treating a firewall like a security system on crack. It got me thinking, and well, I really think I'm on to something. You have to let me try! I won't hurt him! I won't!"

"Get Rick Donnelly" John ordered. "He's supposed to be in his rack." Someone standing near the entrance raced to comply.

Blair moved to Marcus's bedside, taking his hand, feeling the coolness of his forehead. How close had she come to never seeing those beautiful blue eyes again?

Donnelly came on the run, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He was surprised by how many people there were in the tent. Whatever had happened while he was out, it must have been major.

"Alright Corporal make your case. And it had better be a good one" John Connor told Lawler.

Vince started talking. This one's for you Manny, he saluted his former teacher. It took him about fifteen minutes to lay out his theory.

When he was done, Rick Donnelly, Kate Connor and a few others with the expertise to make sense of his presentation were looking thoughtfully at him.

Donnelly rubbed his chin. "It could work" he said to Kate.

"Or it could not work, or it might send him over the edge" Kate replied, playing devil's advocate. "But we don't have a lot of choices here" she conceded reluctantly.

"What happens to Marcus if you don't, if you just keep treating him the way you have been?" The question came from Blair.

Kate gave her straight talk. "His condition will probably continue to deteriorate. Best case, he stays this way permanently."

Blair stepped up for Marcus the way he would have for her. "Do it."

The tent cleared out save for Kate her unique surgical team.

Later that day, Blair stirred in Marcus's arms, instinctively seeking his warmth as she slept. She'd refused to leave his side again. Lawler turned out to be one of the good guys, but nobody knew what else Peterson might have planned. Kyle was keeping an eye on Star. Jacob Peterson's deck was shy by quite a few cards.

She rolled over so they were lying face to face and was surprised to find her eyes meeting his.

"Marcus! You're awake!" She touched his face and smiled. He said nothing, turning his head slightly touching his lips to the palm that caressed his cheek.

She kissed him then called out "Kate, I think you better get in here!"

Blair's call brought not only Kate Connor but also Rick Donnelly and Vince Lawler. Blair moved out of the way as the three people primarily responsible for Marcus's care crowded around his bed. Marcus could feel Blair nearby as he underwent a quick but thorough exam. He still hadn't spoken.

Kate asked the invariable doctor's question. "How are you feeling?"

Like I got stomped by Blood Dog, he thought. What he said was "I've been a lot worse. What happened?" Before that question could be answered he asked "we got the chips, right?"

"Yes, we got them" Blair supplied. The sound of her voice drew his eyes to her again.

"You've been out of it for three days, but you seem to be on track for a full recovery" Kate informed him, concluding her examination. "Actually, better than that. There've been some… improvements." She fought down a grin at his puzzled look.

"I'll explain later. We" she indicated herself, Lawler and Donnelly "are going to get out of here and let you get acclimated. I'll be back in a bit." The treatment trio left, Lawler looking particularly pleased.

Blair carefully crawled back in to bed with him. She felt so good, Marcus savored.

"You're in a lot of trouble pal" Blair mock scolded. "What did I tell you about getting yourself killed?"

"Hey, I'm not dead" he protested indignantly.

"Not for lack of trying!" she shot back, her relief that he would be ok so great that she felt tears closing her throat.

"What is this?" Marcus complained. "I get gravely wounded masterminding a heroic and successful, mind you, mission for John Connor, wake up after three days in a coma and I get yelled at? How does that work?" He wasn't really upset. As long as Blair was in his arms looking at him like that, she could yell at him around the clock and he wouldn't mind.

Blair buried her face in his shoulder, getting as close to him as possible. "I thought I'd lost you." Her muffled words revealed her feelings, her breath warm on his neck.

"You didn't. I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere" he comforted her. He swallowed hard. No time like the present. He decided to go all in. "Blair" he began.

"Hmmm?" she mumbled, drowsily.

He took a deep breath and continued. "I love you. And I don't want to waste any more time." He went for it. "Will you marry me?"

There it was, the big one. It was out at last. The pins and needles he rested on as he waited for her answer had nothing to do with his medical condition.

Blair raised her head to stare wonderingly at him. The smile on her face was like the sun coming up. "Yes" she told him, laughing and crying at the same time.

Kate returned minutes later to find her patient and Blair Williams locked in a rather hot embrace, way too hot for the locale.

"Would you two please get a room?" She joked, breaking up the action. "You really are feeling better aren't ya?" She poked at Marcus verbally.

He actually blushed, something Kate hadn't realized he was capable of.

Easy fellas, Wright counseled his more southern regions. Holding Blair like this did that to him. Heck, sometimes just being in the same room with Blair did that to him.

"Congratulate us Kate" Blair told her friend. "We just got engaged."

Kate's reaction was different that either Marcus or Blair expected.

"Well, its' about time!" She exclaimed, punching Marcus's arm lightly as she checked his monitors. "How long were you going to make her wait anyway? Men!" Dr. Connor snorted as she left them alone again.

Marcus and Blair could only look at one another and laugh. The next three days were a blur for both of them.

For the first time that he could remember, Marcus Wright was actually appreciative for his Skynet designed and built legs. His nearly indestructible endoskeleton was, at the moment, probably the only thing preventing his knees from buckling. Not that he was having second thoughts or anything, but he _was_ a little nervous. Okay, maybe more than a little he acknowledged privately. This was not a regular day for him. In fact this day was different from any other day in any of his lives. All of the days after this one would be different too. Today was his and Blair's wedding day. After today, he'd be a husband, a guy with a wife. He blew out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Was it him or was it hot in here?

He probably should have had someone else do this, but letting another person near his throat with a razor, Marcus was never going to be comfortable with that idea. He'd better be careful. If he sliced an artery right before the wedding, Blair would have his head. No matter that the head in question was, according to Vince Lawler and Rick Donnelly, a new, improved version. Apparently, Lawler's tinkering resulted in a way for Marcus's human brain and his Skynet furnished computer to communicate, with Marcus in control. In other words, as Lawler broke it down, Marcus, with a little more familiarity, would now be able to give his computer at least some of its' marching orders. It already controlled his cybernetics. Now he would have the ability to tell it what, when, where and how and how much. He decided to get in a little practice while he was alone. If he was going to make an idiot out of himself, he'd rather do it without any one around to see.

Concentrating like a magician attempting a trick, he tried for something relatively simple. I'm a little warm, he told the computer. At first nothing happened. Then, very gradually, he noticed a slight temperature change. Then more and more, till it got to be more than slight. Wearing only the towel wrapped around his waist, he started shivering. Ok, ok, whoa, too much! Dial it back! he told the computer, teeth chattering. It took a few seconds, but his body heat adjusted until he felt comfortable. Ok, then. Note to self. Be very, very, careful what you ask for, because now you just might get it.

Kyle Reese stuck his head thru the door. "What! You're not dressed yet! Come on Marcus, get a move on! Blair will kill me if I don't get you to your wedding on time! Come on man, I can't let you get married in a towel!"

Kyle was taking his best man duties very seriously. Marcus had asked him last night, after talking it over with Billy. Discovering he still had family of a sort from his old life gave Marcus a tremendous surge of new energy, but Blair, Star and Kyle were his family in this one, and this was the best way Wright could think of to let Kyle know much that meant to him. When he'd broached the subject to Billy, Soames laughingly replied, "so ask him, jeez, you want him to be the best man, not the bride! I'm fine with it Marcus. Go do it already!"

Hustling Marcus to his and Blair's quarters, Kyle began throwing clothes at him almost faster than Marcus could catch them. Once the groom was fully clothed, Kyle did a ten second inspection, pronounced Marcus presentable and began to push him out the door. Their progress was delayed for a few seconds when Marcus insisted on going back for a very important package then Kyle rushed his charge across the intervening space and into the mess tent where the ceremony was to take place.

Marcus didn't see Blair. That was normal wasn't it? What he knew about weddings could fit into a shot glass, but from what little he did remember, the bride was supposed to make some sort of a grand entrance.

Marcus and his best man took their places at the front of the room, which was filled with people, most present as friends of the bride, but a surprising amount attending on behalf of the groom. His friends among the resistance were a select group but their number was gradually increasing.

John Connor waited, spit shined and polished and, at Kate Connor's steely insistence, dressed in his best uniform, to officiate. Blair, after talking it over with Marcus, had requested Connor to do the honors. If the leader of the resistance couldn't be considered official enough, no one could. When her intended made the innocent mistake of asking if Blair wouldn't rather have Connor give her away, he was tartly informed that would not be necessary as she was getting married, not being traded like a sack of beans, thank you very much.

Nice going knucklehead, he said to himself sardonically. Not even married yet and already you're stepping in it.

Kate signaled her husband from a side door. John nodded and a resistance soldier who'd been of all things, a concert violinist in an orchestra before Judgment Day, began playing. The woman's skill managed to coax a beautiful melody from the salvaged instrument, but Marcus had no clue what it was. He barely heard it. Coming down the aisle towards him, wearing not a dress, but _her_ best uniform, leather jacket included, Blair commandeered all of his attention. In lieu of a bouquet, she carried Marcus's wedding present in her hands. It was a cloisonné enameled miniature music box that once belonged to her grandmother. The tiny treasure had not played since before Judgment Day, but Blair kept it anyway. It was the only thing she had left from her beloved Nana. Marcus used his talents at repairing things to restore the device's ability to produce music. As Kyle prodded him across the compound, he'd had Star take the gift to his fiancée. Blair William's golden brown eyes shone with joy as she drew closer. She handed the music box to Kate her matron of honor in the same fashion she would have flowers, for temporary safekeeping.

With Blair and Marcus before him holding hands, Connor began. "We are gathered today to encourage and support Blair and Marcus as they pledge their love and commitment to one another. Life has brought them together and has led them to the place where they now stand."

John addressed Blair first. "Blair Williams, the man who stands by your side is going to be your husband. He will look to you for comfort and support, for love, for understanding, and for protection. .."

As Connor went on, Kyle Reese looked around, noting the contented expressions on many faces. He kind of had the feeling that contentment wasn't only about what was happening but that it was something good, something happy for a change. This wedding was a much needed respite from the constant battle of attrition they waged against the murderous Skynet. His gaze traveled past those in front to take in the entire tent, with its' mesh see-thru flaps serving as walls. Outside of the tent, a red glow caught his eye. Tracing the intense crimson glow back to its source, Reese realized what he was seeing was the laser sight of a gun of the variety used by the T-800's. He followed the red line to its target, discovering it to be… Kyle drew a breath so sharp it was audible. An almost indiscernible red dot danced on Marcus's temple, unnoticed by those focused on the marrying couple.

"Marcus! Everybody, get down!" Kyle yelled, throwing himself at Marcus. His weight knocked Wright off balance, bringing Blair along with her about to be husband. The young best man's efforts saved the couple's lives, but the shot did not miss completely. The sizzling bolt winged Marcus along the side of his neck in almost exactly the same spot Lucas Hannerly's knife had nicked him so many years before in a dark alley in El Paso.

Surprised yelps and exclamations soon gave way as the gathered wedding guests and participants recovered quickly.

"It came from there!" Kyle yelled, pointing to the roof of a supply shed about thirty yards from the tent. The ad-hoc wedding chapel emptied quickly as the joyous occasion turned abruptly into a manhunt. Piling out of the doorways, most of them armed out of habit, the assembled group of resistance fighters set off in pursuit of the shot taker, Connor and Kate in the lead. Marcus started to follow only to be prohibited by John.

"No! Marcus you stay here! You were the target! Blair you stay with him! That's an order!"

"But-!" Marcus began to object.

Connor stifled the budding protest. "Stay here, both of you!" He took off, bound for where Kyle's sharp lookout had indicated.

Marcus turned to Blair to find they shared the same astonished outrage. Their wedding ceremony? Would they not even be allowed that? Clutching her grandmother's music box, rescued from the tent floor where it had unintentionally been dropped by Kate Connor, Blair put her arms around Marcus's waist. They held each other.

It only took a couple of minutes for the furious posse to close in on the source of this latest attempt on Marcus's life. In the distance, growing less by the second, Tim Hutchins, hands wrapped around a purloined Skynet plasma rifle, was running hard.

Granted a conditional freedom as reward for his incredibly hazardous but ultimately triumphant run as "John Connor" during the successful raid, Hutchins had largely been keeping to himself and mostly went about his limited duties unnoticed. He'd used the time and lack of attention to his advantage. As dedicated to Wright's demise as Jake Peterson, a momentary lapse in the diligence of Peterson's guards had given Tim the opportunity needed.

"_Captain Hutchins" the former Colonel greeted Hutchins, unsurprised at the other's appearance in the building currently being used as a detention area. "I'm glad you were finally able to make it here." _

"_Sir" Hutchins saluted. "I'm one of you sir" he identified. _

_Peterson understood what Tim meant. He nodded in acknowledgment. _

"_This is wrong" Hutchins bridled. "You shouldn't be here. You only tried to do what needs to be done. I can't believe John Connor's trusting that machine over a human. Treating you like this!"_

"_We don't have time to worry about that right now Captain. Listen, this is what you need to do. During the mission, I slipped away from the main force for a few minutes. I picked up a plasma rifle from a dead T-800. It'll finish off the machine good and proper. It's in my quarters. You just need to wait for when you'll have the most chance of success" Hearing of the planned wedding, Peterson ordered Hutchins to make use of the opportunity. _

"_They'll all be so caught up in that obscenity, it should be like shooting fish in a barrel. Good luck, Captain." Noting the returning guards, Hutchins made his exit unnoticed and headed for Peterson's billet._

Climbing unobserved to the shed roof, which gave him a perfect vantage point overlooking the mess tent, Hutchins prepared and settled in. Waiting until the nuptials were in full swing, he'd lined up the machine with the laser sight, taking a moment to relish the fact that it was he given the chance to do what was so desperately right and necessary.

Now fleeing for his freedom, Hutchins was in disbelief. His squeeze of the trigger and Kyle Reese's warning yell shared the exact same moment! If not for Reese, they would all be free of the monstrosity calling itself a human! Hutchins grunted with frustrated anger! Not long ago, according to what Tim knew about Kyle, the teenager had been scrounging rats and coyotes for sustenance in the ruins of L.A. Now he was here, some kind personal pet of John Connor for reasons no one could figure out. Reese's interference was disastrous! Tim could see Kyle behind him, one of his pursuers. They were closing in. He wheeled and fired from the hip!

Kyle Reese, a lifetime of surviving death on an almost daily basis to fall back on, didn't hesitate. He along with the others dodged Hutchins hastily taken shot, returning fire. Kyle had the superior aim. Hutchins dropped bearing a bloody hole in his chest.

Tim forced his eyes open to stare up at the breathless group surrounding him. Kate pushed thru, but immediately comprehended Hutchins was beyond saving. Frothing pink foam spilled from his lips as he spat the words at John Connor.

"I…I was glad to do it! Glad to follow the Colonel's orders! I was honored! Th…th, there's more of us! We'll kill that thing! It has to be killed! Ha….has to…if you won't do it, w…we… wi…!" Hutchins died, hate on his lips.

John touched the stunned Kyle on the arm. Kyle was shaking slightly. He'd killed lots of Synet's machines, sure, but never a man, not until now. Connor consoled the young man who would become his father. "He didn't leave you a choice. You did the only thing you could have done."

Kyle nodded, still white faced and unnerved.

Giving orders for the body to be taken to the medical tent for now, Connor led everyone back to camp.

While Kate tended to Marcus's newest plasma burn, Connor paid a visit to Jacob Peterson. Slouched on the cot in his cell, Peterson insolently studied his former leader.

"Hutchins is dead" John announced bluntly. "Your killer missed. Marcus is still alive. You failed again."

Peterson flushed to almost a russet color. "You're a fool, Connor. That thing is an abomination, a ticking time bomb that's gonna go off right in your face and kill us all! I don't know how and I don't know when, but somewhere along the way you lost the vision to see that! That thing is a monster! We have to treat it like one and destroy it!" Peterson shouted, seeing no more need for restraint.

"Shut up!" John flared, the command in his voice breaking thru Jake Peterson's unhinged rant. "Before he died, Hutchins said 'there are more of us. We'll kill that thing.' What did he mean, Jake, what did he mean by more of you?"

Peterson sneered. "Did you think this was it Connor? Do you really think that because you have me locked up and Hutchins is dead that this finishes it? There's a whole group of us in the resistance and we won't stop until that thing is destroyed. We see clearly even if you don't anymore. You can't stop us. We'll just keep coming until its' done."

John had nothing else to say, merely shook his head in disgust and walked out, leaving Peterson's contemptuous bluster behind.

He went back to the mess tent/wedding chapel to find Kate packing up her medical supplies and Marcus evidencing a fresh bandage. Everyone looked up as he entered.

"You better sit down" Connor said to Marcus. "There's something you need to know" then proceeded to explain.

Hearing what John had to tell him, rather than appearing upset, Marcus bore a more resigned expression. ""Just what I always wanted" he sniffed, "my very own death cult. Bet we don't get two of those for a wedding gift" he commented to Blair who laughed and laid her head on his shoulder.

"John just told you there is a clandestine group buried within the resistance dedicated to killing you and you make jokes?" Kate asked.

Kate" Marcus told her, "that list is longer than your arm. Someone or something has been trying to kill me since I was fifteen. You'd be surprised what you can get used to. Or" he considered what they all went thru while he was in a Skynet hibernation, "maybe you wouldn't . Skynet's been trying to kill your husband since before he was born. Now" he said, taking Blair's hand, "can we get please get married?" "You do still want to marry me?" he asked.

"You try backing out now, I'll kill you!" Blair answered.

"Ooo! A shotgun wedding" Billy Soames cracked.

"Don't worry Blair" Kyle snarked, "I won't let him run away."

"Kyle, has anyone explained to you what this means?" Marcus asked, flipping off his best man. Kyle guffawed.

After getting everyone back in their assigned places, the wedding did indeed go on and Marcus Wright and his feisty flygirl at last became husband and wife.

Following that came the reception, during which Blair was able to present a surprise of her own to her flabbergasted new mate. Emerging from the kitchen, Jane Wilmer, one of the base cooks stopped by Marcus's chair and with a flourish, uncovered and presented him with a dish of what for all the world appeared to be, and was, a large dish of death-by-chocolate ice cream.

For nearly a full half a minute, Marcus alternately stared open mouthed from the ice cream to Blair and back.

"You are planning to eventually eat it, right?" Blair teased lovingly. "You know how hard it was to come up with enough chocolate to make that? Not to mention the ice and the cream!"

Still staring at his wife, Marcus picked up a spoon, scooped up a large portion and indulged. His eyes closed in bliss. He groaned ecstatically.

"I think he likes it" Blair smiled

"I think he wants to be alone with it!" Billy laughed.

Blair kissed Marcus on the cheek as he devoured his wedding gift. "You didn't think I'd figure out you were a chocaholic, did you? Billy ratted out your favorite flavor."

Marcus grinned like a delighted child and continued eating.

Jake Peterson, under full guard and the personal watchful eye of Major Anthony Barnes, (so the man did have a first name, after all), hobbled in shackles to the transport for his return trip to Arizona. With no court system in place, John Connor had decided his fate. Stripped of all rank, Peterson faced a future at a northern outpost. On the literal frontier of the human/Skynet conflict, the posting was tantamount to a death sentence.

"You want to kill machines?" Connor told the ex-Colonel scathingly, "Here's your chance." John left without giving the prisoner a chance to speak.

Tottering towards his ride into exile, Peterson campaigned with Barnes. "I know you hate that thing as much as I do. You can join us, help us. Connor trusts you. You can get close enough to Wright to take him out. Nobody will ever see it com-"

Barnes cut short the attempted recruitment, jerking Peterson nearly off his feet. "Shut your mouth and keep walking. Don't you say another word" he warned Jake frostily. Peterson was partially correct, Barnes didn't care for Marcus, a big part of him still distrustful of the Skynet technology Wright was loaded with. Every time he saw Marcus, Barnes also saw his dead brother. But Peterson and this mysterious group and their bizarre pledge to kill Marcus Wright turned his stomach. For them to think Barnes would be a part of something so dishonorable was insulting. He jerked open the rear doors of the transport and froze. Waiting calmly within, relaxed against the far wall of the van, was Marcus Wright. Barnes hesitated, unsure.

"If I wanted to kill him" Marcus pointed out reasonably "I could have done it already."

Barnes pushed Peterson forward.

Blair looked up from explaining her antique music box and the tune it played to a fascinated Star. Where was Marcus? She didn't see him anywhere. Steady, she told her suddenly jangling nerves. He's fine. They wouldn't be trying again so soon. Besides Marcus is better able to take care of himself than anyone else you know, right? Especially now, after the enhancements made to his computer. He's fine, don't panic.

"Kate, Kyle" she inquired of the pair nearby, having a conversation, "have either of you seen Marcus lately?" Blair tried not to let her uneasiness come thru in her questioning.

Kyle picked up on her mood anyway. "Not in the last ten minutes or so, why? What are you thinking? Wait, wait you, you think that, I mean they wouldn't…" Kyle's questions died off unfinished.

Blair's jitters broke free. "I think we can't be certain Peterson and Hutchins are the only two members of that killer group on this base." The second man behind the RPG attack on Marcus weeks before had been killed while on a patrol days later, but there could still be more.

"John" Kate alerted her husband, "we need to find Marcus." They began to search, finding Marcus, Barnes and the chained Jake Peterson as Marcus was about to confront the man who so wanted to take his life. Connor and the rest overheard Marcus's measured words.

"The only reason you are not dead" Wright told Jake, "is because of a promise that I made to someone. A promise I didn't know it would be this difficult to keep until now. You want to keep sending people to try to kill me, I'll be ready. Their blood will be on your hands not on mine. But know this. You leave Blair, Star, Kyle Reese and Billy Soames and while we're at it, Vince Lawler, out of it. If any one of them so much as stubs a toe because of you and your band of junior Illuminati, I will come for you, all of you. And I won't stop until I pull you up by the root."

With that he hopped down and out of the transport. Barnes did likewise, slamming the doors shut and giving them a hit with the flat of his hand. The vehicle slowly disappeared from sight.

"I don't suppose there's any more of that ice cream?" Marcus asked his wife plaintively.

Much later, after the celebrating was done, Marcus and Blair were finally alone in their quarters, now the honeymoon suite. Blair slipped her arms under his clothing to wrap around his waist, luxuriating in the touch of his warm skin.

"So, what do you think? Is Mad Marcus going back into retirement? After all, you're a married man now."

"Well" Marcus answered his new bride, "Connor might have something to say about that, but its' gonna have to wait" he finished, reaching for the first snap on her jacket.

**The End**

**My tale is told, my story ended. I made all that stuff up about the computer and the brain being able to talk to each other. I don't even know if such a thing is possible, but hey it's fiction right? Also, I know the appeals process for death row inmates takes a lot longer to work, but I took a little dramatic license. I hope you enjoyed the reading as much as I enjoyed the writing. Not sure if there will be any more stories, but we'll see. I have a couple of ideas floating around in my head. Reviews welcomed as always. It's been fun. **


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